About a Girl
by paceyourself
Summary: Every heart has a pain. Fools hide it in their eyes while the brilliant hide it in their smile and someday you'll realize the damage that you've caused. Violet/Tate, AU, 1993.
1. Violet

Chapter 1 - Violet - 1993.

Violet Harmon opened her sunglass covered eyes to the vision of the back of her father's head rest, the unnerving vibrations of a moving vehicle beneath her seat, a frantically panting dog to her right. No this was not a nightmare, her parents really were uprooting and dragging her across country to live in tinsel town.

At least there was someone else who hated the heat of this place Violet thought glancing at her mom's dog. Violet suddenly felt itchy and uncomfortable in her layers, silently regretting not taking her mother up on the opportunity to go shopping for LA clothes before hand, she was still in Boston mode. She didn't know which was worse right now, the idea of clothes shopping with her mother or slowly dehydrating in the back of her parent's land cruiser.

They had just passed by a sign that read Los Angeles and under it some number of kilometres Violet hadn't manage to catch, not that she was bothered. In the distance she could see the faint outline of sky scrapers almost blending into the abnormally blue sky, hiding behind various approaching high way bridges.

"The light is different out here, it's softer." Vivien suddenly said, it was the first time she'd spoken since they left.

"It's called smog." Violet answered, her tone reminding them how pissed she was about moving here.

"You should be excited Violet, you can stop sniffing cigarettes and start taking deep breathes." her dad suddenly said humour in his tone.

Violet wasn't in the mood for jokes. Sulking she gazed out the window. They suddenly passed by a gas station, she smirked.

"I need to use the bathroom."

"We're almost there" Ben assured her.

"But I need to go." she pressed, wondering how far she could push Ben before he snapped.

"Violet it's a free way! Where do you want me to pull over? Maybe the Honda next to us has a bathroom or something..." Ben replied calming his tone slowly, knowing what Violet was trying to do.

"I bet if that dog needed a shit you'd find somewhere to pull over." Violet snarked.

"Really Violet? I hate that word unless I'm saying it!" Vivien scolded her daughter, Violet smiled back at her mother sarcastically.

"You know I'm really glad we named you Violet and not our second choice..."

"Which was?" Violet asked feigning indifference.

"Sunshine" her mother confessed trying to hide back a smile.

Violet threw back her shoulders in mock humour, her parents joined in. For a moment Violet wasn't feeling pissed. She liked when her family got on. Maybe this move would be ok if her parents had adopted this new attitude for real and it wasn't bullshit.

But it didn't last for long. Nothing good ever does.

"Come on you gotta admit it was funny." Ben placed a hand over his wife's but Violet noticed she pulled away. She suddenly felt sick, she reached for her walkman in her bag which was beside her feet. She knew there was a Bikini Kill CD in there so she highered up Suck My Left One as loud as she could.

Violet glanced around the car allowing herself to become absorbed within the angry drum beat that was penetrating her tympanic membrane - cause she payed attention in Biology. Her eyes suddenly came into contact with her mother's face who was mouthing her name, inaudable over her music. Violet pulled off her head phones.

"Violet what have I told you? Turn that down you'll hurt your ears!"

Violet rolled her eyes and turned down the volume.

"I can put on the radio." Ben suddenly said.

"No thank you." Violet muttered, she was craving her razor blades right now which were in a secret zipped compartment in the bag that was currently at her feet. She highered the music up again - with the sole purpose of annoying her parents, closed her eyes and wished she could disappear.


	2. Tate

**Chapter 2 - Tate -**

* * *

><p>Concealed within the shadows that the 5pm sun cast on his porch Tate Langdon stood with his arms folded watching covertly as an array of moving trucks crept up the quiet L.A suburban cul de sac where he despised living turning not into his drive way but the house next door to him with the <em>for sale <em>sign.

The house had been on the market for 6 years, the previous owner an elderly lady who had died in her sleep.

When Tate was a kid he would sometimes buy groceries for her and in exchange she'd tell him stories about the old murder house down the street, the place had always fascinated him - until that day, he'd been so foolish to go down into that basement.

* * *

><p>He remembered how he'd park his bicycle against the steps of Mrs Echolls porch, knock on the door twice and wait until she came to the door. Once inside he would stand in her ancient lounge while she wrote her shopping list in the kitchen, the faint murmur of an old radio playing old songs he didn't know the name of. Her house always smelled like dust and pine and history.<p>

Her handwriting was always shakey being eighty five and bearly readable but she always ordered the same things and Tate had memorised these items. He was gonna tell her he didn't need a list to save her the trouble but the truth was he liked spending time in her house. While waiting for her he would marvel at the old glass cabinet in the corner of the room filled with her husband's old guns and medals from Vietnam.

Mr Echolls had died before Tate was born. Tate envied having not met the man with all the guns. He could only imagine the timeless stories he could have told Tate about the war. The brotherhood and the carnage. He would have lapped them up and locked them in the vast volume of his hungry young brain.

He would have went home then and reinacted the stories in his back yard with only his imagination and his non existent friends. Tate had never had many friends even as a child. He was somewhat inept and imaginative, he didn't speak much although he was more intellectually advanced than the kids in his elementary school. Tate hated school, if kids weren't teasing him because his sister looked different from other kids or because his mom was a cock sucker they just ignored him, especially the girls. Little girls can be so rotten if they want to be.

Even to this day he never talked much to girls not that they gave him the time of day, the odd few. High school was just as bad as elementary only the girls five times meaner, had boobs, wore shorter skirts and drove Porsches while the boys ruled the hallways in packs like dumb primates loud and ignorant, preying on the less socially accepted kids who just wanted to get their education and get out.

He had faked sick one day when he was ten so he didn't have to go to church with Constance. Not only because he thought Church was bullshit but because he knew the bullies would be there with their parents and he'd be forced to hang out with them while the parents had after-sermon tea and coffee.

While Constance and Adelaide were out of the house he had gone rooting in his mom's stuff and unexpectedly found Constance's semi automatic in her powder drawer while looking for a razor blades to help him cope with his dad leaving a couple of months ago. Tate used to mourn for his father. It was only when he was a bit older he started to realise his dad never actually payed much attention to him before he upped and left like the asshole he was. He grew to resent his father as much as Constance.

That day, he had run around the house with it pretending to be a cowboy ensuring he put it back where he found it when he heard the car pull into the drive way.

When Mrs Echolls body was taken away the morning she died, before her neglectful, ungreatful children showed up with their families to scavange the antiques and sell them Tate had waited until the house was empty before sneaking in through the basement window. He stole some of the guns and medals and a cap from the cabinet, however he liked to think of it as salvaging or rescuing them, he stole some of Mrs Echolls jewelry too. She had some expensive stuff. He thought maybe he could sell the pieces he took one day so he could get the money to up and leave this place move to Tokyo or something.

No one would appreciate that stuff as much as he did. No one. He then hid them in the crawl space beneath the floor boards under his bed where they remain today along with other guns and weapons he had managed to collect over future years to feed his destructive obsession with weapons.

* * *

><p>But right now, Tate wasn't thinking about Mrs Echolls or guns he was too occupied with the new curiousity that enveloped his brain. Who had finally bought old Mrs Echoll's house? He watched six men systematically unload boxes and crates and pieces of furniture venturing in and out of the house. Tate studied various items trying to work out what kind of people were moving in. Their furniture was modern, simple and sophisticated. Tate admired a large mahogany desk that was carried out of one of the vans along with one of those leather office chairs. A doctor perhaps? Someone who worked from home. He watched then the frames of not one but two double beds emerge. There was a couple moving in for sure. But two double beds? A family perhaps the kid would have to be a lot older, a teenager maybe. He saw no more beds after twenty more minutes. He noticed the side of one of the moving vans read Boston on their contact address.<p>

Great. All he needed in this goddamned neighbourhood was another movie-screen perfect East Coast couple with with a soon to be wannabe-Valley-kid, that would address him to their new friends as the wierd kid that lives next door to them in school.

A clean black Toyota soon followed and parked across the street. Tate watched as a small plump woman with short brown hair wearing a peach coloured suit that didn't really suit her body shape ascended from the car with a sledge hammer in her hand.

Tate's eyed zeroed in on the heavy blunt metallic object she carried. He thought of his collection of destructive objects upstairs and his mouth almost watered. He recognised the woman. She worked for a local Real Estate company in L.A. He'd seen her often on this street mostly trying to show the murder house to renovators and architects.

Before Tate knew it he was already walking towards the woman who was hammering onto the for sale sign a red card that said _sold_.

"Who's moving in here?" Tate asked clearing his throat behind her he tried to sound as disinterested as he could.

She turned around a snotty expression on her peach couloured lips. There was lipstick on her tooth. She looked like a brunette version of his mother. Tate scrunched up his nose slightly.

"What's it to you?" she asked giving the impression she was busy and had better things to do than talk to a teenage boy dressed too much like a Kurt Cobain fanboy.

"Well I live next door, so naturally I'm _curious_." Tate said simply, amused by her tone.

"Well hello there Marcy, finally managed to get a buyer, I see."

Constance suddenly appeared behind Tate the sound of her ugly voice near his ear made him shudder. Constance placed a hand on her son's arm. Tate rolled his eyes and stepped away from his mother, she retracted her arm and brushed his rejection off with a hand sweep over her neurotically permed hair do. Tate turned on his heels and headed back towards the house. He wasn't interested in his new neighbours anymore he was pissed off at Constance acting like shit was fine and the world was merry.

* * *

><p>When he got to his bedroom he slammed the door and locked it. He went over to his stereo and turned it on. He searched his CD rack for something loud, anything to drown out the rage he felt inside. He was breathing heavily. He settled for Rage against the Machine to be ironic. He cranked it up as high as it would go and flopped face down onto his bed.<p>

He hadn't taken his meds today he knew that's why he was losing it, _it_ was trying to get in. He'd been trying to wean himself off them gradually.

He hated doctors. They trick you into taking these pills, telling you they'll make the visions go away until somewhere in between you lose all sense of who you are, what it feels like without them, until you can't tell the difference, you can't escape the visions without the pills, until it's too late and you become weak and dependent and_ scared_.

It's a disgusting, _vicious_ circle. Tate hated the system of life on this planet, how brainwashed, self absorbed and greedy everyone was. He knows the world is out to get him and it scares him, so he sleeps with a loaded gun under his pillow and he says shit to no one.

He suddenly thought about his current therapist and how his his mother was probably due to recieve a phone call informing her Tate had broken into his house and left him a little ~surprise in the lounge. He smiled to himself.

Tate had been to see ten different therapists over the past five years. They never lasted that long though. Tate would take each new therapist as a chance to make up new bullshit to cry about for 80 dollars an hour. He would take pleasure is wasting Constance's money and _make the most_ of his sessions.

First he would find out as much dirt as he could about his therapist cause he was a nosy little shit like that. He'd then make up a similar scenario that was affecting him. He'd watch how tense they'd get sitting in that chair that could feed thirty starving families with their paper and pen judging him. Most of them were cheating homewrecking bastards paying more alimony than car tax. He'd watch how they figited with their pen or ran a sweaty palm down their expensive slacks when he'd hit a nerve close to home.

He'd pretend he was getting better for weeks, getting over his daddy issues and family bullshit. He'd build them up and build them up and make them feel proud of their profession.

Then he would stop taking his meds for a week and let the chips fall where they may. Once _its_ in control theres nothing he can do. It scares the shit out of him but he craves the darkness, the fear, he's addicted and he can't get enough. It's worth it, _was_ worth it at the time all those years ago.

Worth the nightmares that wake him up in the middle of the night, covered in a cold sweat, his heart flapping like a bird trapped in a box, the lingering sting of sharp elongated yellow claws on his cheek. Everytime he puts his hand up there's nothing there, only the faint aged scars of the past barely visible only in acute sunlight.

So he lies back down, opens his drawer searches around until he finds the hard brown capsule, takes his medication and cries himself to sleep, cries away the carnage. The meds keep _it_ sedated in his subconscious, keep _it_s death grip off his thoughts.

Sometimes _it_ would tell Tate to bring his gun to therapy to show the nice Doctor if they were lucky._ It_ would tell him to save the best though for the real shitty bastards he was forced to see once in a while. The real scumy bullshit money making self centered therapists.

The real sick fucks who'd literally ring up his mother requesting to treat Tate free of charge. Tate was kinda famous in LA amongst therapists, particuarly the younger ones who had just started working.

Some wanted to get as far away from him as possible, one session in his presence was enough for some.

But there were others. Others who relished the idea of treating a true LA bred organic fruit cake, a real basket case psycho like the ones they read about in their expensive textbooks. To have him sit on their new unused furniture in their fancy new office daddy bought them. Not interested in helping him but wanting to see how his brain works living out their dream of experiencing a Clarice Starling moment in their own pathetic Silence of the Lambs fantasy.

People get so wraped up in shit. He wonders if it's LA that does it to them or rather just the system.

They want a good A list show and Tate makes sure he gives them just that.

Until they ring his mother the next day to inform her they can no longer treat her son, and if she has ever considered institutionalizing him - if they can still speak.

Some just move State and change their name without a word.

Those lucky or rather unfortunate bastards got to meet _it, _got to meet Thaddeus.

* * *

><p>Tate woke up some amount of time later on his bed figuring he must have passed out or something. He looked at his alarm clock he'd been out cold for 20 minutes.<p>

He decided he'd cave and take his meds.

Start again tomorrow.

Trudging down the stairs he figured he'd go to the beach or something. On passing by the kitchen he heard two female voices talking. He usually had not the slightest interest in his mother's social life when she wasn't sucking off the guy next door but he heard the voice of that realtor lady. He paused at the kitchen door which was closed over and listened in.

"Now you must tell me Marcy, who are these fine people moving in next door? I say they have some beautiful pieces of furniture." said Constance who was having a cigarette and a scotch, probably thinking about what she was gonna lift from their house.

"A family from Boston. Between you and me, well they... I wasn't told much but well... let's just say they're here for a fresh start."

"Oh I see how interesting. And they have children I presume?"

"One. A girl, fifteen years old. I met her once when I went to meet the family about the house. She's not very friendly, quiet. Wears the most odd looking clothes. Strange, strange girl."

"Who knows, maybe she'll find herself accquainted with my boy Tate, he's a bit socially awkward maybe they'll be good for each other, god knows he needs a girl friend I'm starting to worry about him."

Tate rolled his eyes. Wow Constance really was ignorant if she thought lack of pussy was his main problem. She was probably already planning a wedding in that venomous brain of hers.

As much as she wanted it, he would never be her perfect son.

Tate heard one of the chairs move and quickly moved towards the front door exiting the house, the last thing he wanted to do was give his mom the satisfaction of catching him eavesdropping.

Closing the front door Tate stepped out onto the porch where he met his sister Addie sitting on the porch steps casually hugging the banister, he went to stand behind her and followed the source of her gaze.

His eyes landed on a girl. She was small with long fair hair not quite brown, not quite blonde. She was perched on top of a pillar in front of the house swinging her legs in striped cloured tights and a pair of brogues. She was wearing a long floral dress that hid all traces of her femininity but he could tell by her small make up she had a slender frame. She was wearing a mustard coloured cardigan too, it reminded him of a sweater he had in that same colour.

She looked like she was slowly baking to be honest, the way she tilted her head back in those sunglasses that covered half her face trying to magically adjust to the sun. Was she crazy? It must have been like somewhere near 70 degrees.

Clearly she hadn't adjusted herself at all to the move, perhaps she didn't want to move here. Tate felt himself smile involuntarily perhaps this girl in the frumpy dress was different afterall.

"Hey crabby pants! come over here!" Tate suddenly averted his gaze to the direction which the male voice was coming from. He figured it was her dad probably. He watched as floral girl hopped down and began to drag herself towards the porch of the house unaware someone was spying upon her spoilt brat demeanour.

Then she was gone.

"She's a pretty girl." Adelaide suddenly said.

"Yeah." Tate agreed, "she is."


	3. Hands on

**Chapter 3 - Hands on -  
><strong>

"You're kidding right? No, no way."

Violet sat on a bar stool at the island piece in their new kitchen chewing on a piece of apple and shaking her head apprhensively at her mother.

"Come on violet you don't have to stay long, ten... fifteen minutes maximum, just bear with me, please."

"Aw Mom... I'm not spending the afternoon sipping Lipton with you and that bunny boiling bitch next door listening to her pipe on about her failed Hollywood career, she smells like tequila, plus her voice makes me want to bury my head in the drywall!

"Violet, come on." Vivien frowned.

"Seriously, just tell her I don't feel well..."

"She specifically asked that you come, she's gone to a lot of effort, don't be rude."

"You know she just wants the low down on your's and Dad's screwy marriage so she has something to cluck about at her weekly poker game. Why are you channeling her bullshit?"

"Violet don't speak like that." Vivien frowned.

"Which statement.?" Violet asked, they were both true. Silence.

Violet averted her gaze towards the refridgerator, her brow furrowed.

"Violet..." Viven finally said. Violet turned her head slowly knowing it was rude to look away while her mother was speaking.

"She mentioned she has children." Vivien chirped.

"Cause I just looove children..." Violet said with pure sarcasm.

"They're about your age Violet, she mentioned her son in particular, Tate." Vivien heightened her tone slightly at the latter part as if Violet would some how change her mind cause she was a teenage girl and she heard the three letter b word.

Violet gave Vivien her best _are you serious?_ eyebrow raise, which Vivien received with a pleasant ignorance.

The last thing Violet needed on top of the bullies she knew she would meet come Monday was some dumbshit boy cruising for tail, telling her she's overreacting when she voices her opinion on something. Who wants to hear a girl talk when they could have their tongue down her throat right?

Violet hadn't been on many dates in Boston but her small track record wasn't anything successful. Boys just didn't really get her if that was the simplest way she could explain it. She had spent her entire time at middle school somewhat mentally anguished thinking there was something wrong with her, she even once wondered if she was gay, but she didn't like girls either most of them fed societies expectations. Then she read Revolutionary Road one Summer gave the world her two red polished fingers and stopped trying to fit in.

"Oh Great! were not even here a week and your already pimping me out in exchange for social validiation."

"Violet its not like that, I just, I want to do this properly, this is our home now." Vivien looked as thought she was trying to convince herself.

"I just, Vi I need you to help me. I thought maybe it would be a chance for you to make some friends...Or not, whatever you like. Just please, do this one thing for me."

Vivien looked at her daughter sincerely.

Violet sighed in defeat, she really felt for her Mom sometimes she looked so... lost, caught up in trying to fix the Harmon mess. The truth was Violet would do anything _to make her parents _happy even if it meant an afternoon spent in the company of the neighbourhood bigot.

_Happy Happy Happy._ That's all that mattered. Things are good when people are happy._ Happy is good_. But god, Violet wished she could be happy too.

"Fine, but I'm not engaging in any conversation!"

Vivien smiled as she went over to plant a motherly kiss on her daughter's forehead.

"I'll go grab my purse, don't move."

Violet jumped down off the counter flinging the remains of a half eaten fruit into the trash with a little too much force.

Great she thought, just great.

* * *

><p>Violet felt the sudden urge to sprint back to the safety of her own bedroom after her mother's finger landed on Constance Langdon's doorbell. A cheerful chime-like ding dong erupted from inside the house, however Violet thought the opening of Beethoven's 5th would be a much better suited tune. Violet smiled acutely to herself until she noticed her mom was looking at her and quickly switched her expression to one that resembled mild constipation.<p>

"Come on I know she's a bit...outspoken, but I don't think she means any harm."

Who was she trying to convince?

"A bit? Mom shes a-"

Violet was suddenly cut off when the front door was opened, revealing Constance in a clean checkered apron most likely for show looking like she had forgotten to take out her hot rollers last night.

"Well hello there Mrs Harmon and look there's sweet Violet, won't you come in?"

"Oh please call me Vivien"

Violet just smiled ruefully at Constance.

Violet reluctantly closed the front door behind her following her Mom who was being led by Constance through the hall towards the kitchen. They layout of Constance's house was similar to Violet's except the decor was more old and traditional, everything matched oddly, scarily. Violet noticed the hall was scattered with various forms of art, she noticed in particular odd looking murals of slightly demonic looking individuals becuase she didn't recongnise them. Violet usually had an eye for alternative art pieces but next to a portrait of Raphael's Madonna on a floral wallpapered background things just didn't sit well.

The two Harmons seated themselves at Constance's breakfast table while she went to make a pot of tea.

Violet couldn't help but feed her niggling curiosity. She let her eyes explore every inch of the kitchen. Amongst an old grandfather clock, several of those tacky wall plates with transfers of various breeds of small dogs and several glass cabinets she noticed a framed photo.

There was a picture of two children, a boy and a girl that looked like eighties preschoolers. Violet sat forward in an effort to focus in on the image.

"Would you like to see my children Violet?" Constance asked as she placed a steaming pot of tea on the table. But before Violet could answer Constance was already over there taking the photo down. She handed the wooden framed photo to Violet. Now that she could see it clearly she noticed the little brown haired, blue eyed girl had down syndrome but her brother didn't.

He looked a bit younger than the girl. His hair was blonde and curly and he had big brown eyes and a cheeky smile. These were pretty cute kids considering they came out of Constance. Violet handed the photo to her mother and watched as Vivien's eyes lit up.

"They're adorable Constance," Vivien cooed.

"Yes, Adelaide's a mongoloid, Tate is my only perfect child but even he falls short sometimes. I had another son, Beau but he's no longer with us, heaven rest his soul he had a serious respiratory ailment." Violet was really hating that woman's accent right now.

"How come you have no picures of your other son, the one who died, I can't see any." Violet commented.

"Violet! I'm very sorry for your loss Constance, Violet is too." Vivien glared at her daughter.

"Yeah... sorry." Violet said in a small voice.

"It's alright. Well Beau he wasn't very... photogenic, Addie could almost look normal if she smiled big enough."

Vivien's eyes widened as she almost chocked on her tea consoled by the fact that she was at least a better mother than Constance. Violet sent her mom a _told you so_ look across the table and folded her arms with satisfaction.

"Well that's enough sorrow contemplation, I have something you girls will love, I'll be right back." Constance rose from her chair and left Vivien and Violet alone.

"I say we make a run for it now, while she's occupied, we could totally make it, Mom."

"No Violet."

"Mom you said ten minutes I've been here for fifteen." Violet looked at the clock.

"Please Vi don't leave me here on my own with her."

_Happy_ Violet thought, _I'm making her happy._

Violet sighed miserably and rested her forehead on the table.

"Violet dear don't slouch it's very bad for your posture, even someone as short as you." Constance was suddenly reseated a frayed white photo album in her hand, a bottle of scotch and a tumbler. Violet sat up straight, annoyed. Violet watched as Constance poured herself an afternoon drink, it was barely past twelve.

"Bit early don't you think?" Violet pointed out spitefully. Constance sent Violet a beady eyed sideways glance.

"My dear, the Lord said be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess; but be filled with the Spirit_._ Ephesians chapter five, verse eighteen. We all have our own indulgences._" _Constance slowly exphasised the word indulgences as she watched Violet eye the pack of marlboros on the table with desire.

Violet realised she would have to find a new place to smoke in peace. Of course Constance had been spying on her.

Two and a half minutes later Constance was in full swing story telling mode, informing Vivien of her acting debut in a production of Oklahoma in the sixties. Violet found her eyes wandering again. Noticing how neurotically tied the blind strings on the window were Violet wondered if it would be possible to strangle herself with them or perhaps a length of wire from the old upright Steinway she noticed in the lounge on the way in.

Violet then thought of a more realistic means of escape, for now anyway.

"Constance may I use your bathroom?"

"Why certainly. The downstairs one is being re-tiled but if you go upstairs it's the second door on the left.

"Awesome thanks."

Violet couldn't get out of the kitchen fast enough.

When she found herself in Constance's bathroom she took a seat on the edge of the bath tub and let out the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding in. From the corner of her eye she saw the gleam of a lady shave sticking out of Constance's toiletry bag.

Suddenly consumed by a rush of adrenaline Violet felt slightly ill. She tried to compose her breathing. A cigarette would probably fill the gap but she didn't even have any with her, she crossed her legs and uncrossed them again.

No not here. She couldn't. It was too risky. The last thing she needed was Constance walking in on her mid slice, Violet didn't want to give that woman anymore dirt she could use against her.

Violet splashed some cold water on her face and flushed the toilet for effect. She exited the bathroom with the intention to go straight down the stairs and out the front door, but the sunlight radiating from an open door stopped her in her tracks. She could see into what looked like a boy's room, Tate's room she figured.

Violet wasn't going to lie she was curious to see the bedroom of Constance's golden boy.

* * *

><p>Standing in the middle of the floor she took in her surroundings. The walls were painted a pale blue colour, notibly bare, there were no posters or photos. Everything was neat and tidy. The bed was made perfectly and some school books were stacked neatly on his desk. There was no trace of Constance in this room, in fact there was no trace of anyone.<p>

Violet started to wonder if anyone actually lived here. Maybe Constance was some kind of psychotic who killed all her children in blind rage years ago and make believes they're still here. Maybe she had lured Violet and her mom here to kill them to add to her taxidermy family in the attic. Yes, Violet was definitely glad she hadn't touched her tea although she was now worried about her mother but her curiosity prevailed.

Violet made her way over to Tate's closet and opened the doors. It was filled with usual boy crap clothes and stuff. But then she looked up and saw impressive mountains of books stacked high on a shelf above. Short as she was was, it would be impossible for her to reach it without making considerable amounts of noise so she didn't even bother.

She settled on browsing his equally impressive CD collection which was at least at her eye level. It was mostly loud noisy stuff Violet had no interest in but when she ventured further down she found some versatility that put a smile on her face as she recognised some bands she listened to as well.

His collection wasn't organised in any obvious manner but she loved that he kept Joy Division and New Order nowhere near each other.

Nonetheless, she closed the closet door dissatisfied. She had found out he had decent taste in music but that was hardly bad, she needed to find something dirty, something wrong that would falter his perfect boy with a perfect room chirade.

She started on his drawers next. More clothes, underwear and stuff. On a shelf beside a music system she found some crumpled pages which she discovered were certificates, there were some medals too. He was a track runner, a successful one. Well once was, the certificates were three years old. She liked the sudden sense of rebellion she got from that.

Something bad, she needed to find imperfection. She knelt down beside his bed to search the small cabinet beside at his bedside. She found a swiss army knife, deck of cards, money, cigarette cutter, some packets of rolling paper, the feint smell of marijuana clung to the interior wood although there was none there now.

Lukewarm, now she was getting somewhere.

Bingo.

The next compartment had bottles and packets of pills of various kinds. Okay so the kid had some problems, again she knew who his mother was. Scanning the bottles she saw some Prozac, various BZD's and others she presumed were Valium or something similar.

One bottle was unmarked however. Jesus what else was he on. Vitamins maybe? Or a protein supplement would be hilarious. Violet lifted up the bottle but it felt different. She shook it, but there were no pills inside, just one solid package. She popped off the cap not caring how nosy she was being right now and emptied the contents. A single small plastic bag fell out onto her open palm it was filled with white powder.

The guy was also a coke head, naughty boy. Violet knew there was something he was hiding from his mother and she had found it.

She decided she would steal it, give it back sometime of course but see if he went bat shit crazy without it. She didn't know why but she wanted to mess with this guy's head, maybe she got it from her Dad.

Violet's smug grin fell however when she heard the front door slam and fast paced heavy foot steps ascending the stairs - that definitely wasn't Constance.

Shit.

Tate was home and about five seconds away from barging in here.

It took Violet a second too long to react but she threw his pill bottles back in and slammed the drawer shut. She made for the door like Speedy Gonzales on crack. No, with crack - in her hand.

She forgot to put the drugs back in too, her plan was backfiring and now it was too late.

Just as his bedroom door opened she closed her hand tightly around the small package as if enough force would make it disintegrate into nonexistence.

She figured maybe she could try charm her way out of this one, she was intelligent but also pretty. He was psychotic though judging from the pills he had anger problems and anxiety. Yeah she was in trouble she thought. The door opened, Violet froze.

She now stood facing the little blonde haired boy from the photo downstairs, only now he wasn't a cute little preschooler with a cheeky smile. He was practically a man with broad shoulders and he towered over her, a bemused look in his eyes which looked more black than brown, no emotion on his face whatsoever. It suddenly felt like time had slowed down as Violet was unsure whether he terrified or aroused her.

Slowly she brought her hand behind her back to slip the package into her jean pocket, she'd find someway to return it maybe plant it in Constance's handbag - but right now she just needed to get out so she could run home crawl into bed and sleep/cry away the embarrassment she was feeling right now.

He was standing in the door way blocking her exit though.

"Sorry, I got lost, I was... looking for the...eh... bathroom."

He didn't move, just stared at her, both feeling uncomfortable.

"Excuse me" she said as she went to pass by him but his arm suddenly shot out and gripped the door frame like a steel binder in front of her face halting her exit. Violet could see the tendons in his arm twitching slightly. She gulped. She went to duck under his arm but just as she moved, he stood forward and she had no choice but to stand back he shut the door behind them, she was trapped now.

"Bullshit" he said simply. His tone was low, like velvet covered steel.

"Move please." she said but there was more plea than authority to her tone right now. Tate stepped out of her way but as soon as she went to open the door he reached a hand out and closed it again. Who the fuck did he think he was?

She turned around to face him slowly, he was closer than expected, his face was now inches from hers and sometime during the last two seconds he had managed to cage her in against the door his arms either side of her head, despite having not touched her.

There was no longer amusement on his face, but something dark. She could see it smoldering in his eyes, some kind of want or need, something he was trying to fight off.

Maybe she'd caught him on a trip. Shit. Inside she was freaking out running around screaming, but years of practise had granted her access to a poker face exterior which she now displayed.

"What did you slip into your pocket?" he almost purred scanning every part of her face.

"I don't know what your talking about." she played, trying to harden her voice but she couldn't steady her exhale.

Tate could hear the shake in her voice. Her enormous brown doe-like eyes were glistening with a thrill he found too familiar. She liked the feeling of fear, just like him.

Feeding off her reaction, he retracted one of his arms from the door and reached a hand around, placed it on her waist and held her tightly before he leaned in towards her face,

"Don't play dumb, I saw you." he whispered in her ear. She shuddered slightly at the feel of his words in her ear. His blonde hair was tickling her cheek.

Violet felt her heart leap up her throat but in response to something other than fear. She felt that familiar twinge she got in her lower abdomen when she touched herself at night.

Tate slowly skimmed his fingers downward barely touching her at all until he reached her small backside, where he let the tips of his fingers linger at the entrance of her pocket. She was glaring at him now, clearly offended, he was definitely up inside her space. Slowly he slipped his hand inside, his fingers spreading out, moving down further into the small opening in slow motion.

"Straight to second base, wow you're persistant." she squirmed trying to appear like she didn't give a fuck that he was practically groping her.

Ignoring her he continued downward until he located what he was looking for although he had almost forgotten he was actually looking for something. Go figure, she had tried to lift his coke. He pulled out the package slowly, undeservingly enjoying the curve of her ass cheek beneath his fingertips on the way out. He brought the item up to display it between both their faces.

"Trying to get me in trouble with my dealer?" he asked amused.

"Maybe." she smirked slyly standing her ground. He smirked and brought his lips to her ear again.

"Keep your hands off my stuff, and I'll keep mine off _yours_, deal?"

This time however Tate got a different reaction. Violet's hands suddenly shot out forcefully. Colliding with his chest unexpectedly she pushed him roughly and he stumbled backwards.

"GET OFF! Touch me again and _you will_ regret it." she threathened furiously. There was some kind of mean passion in her eyes.

There was a wild strength that radiated from her, a fierceness that made him want to hunt her, pin her down like some exotic animal, claim her but never harm her release her eventually.

Violet gave Tate one last stare finalising her threat before he watched motionless as she opened the door and fled. He walked across the room and watched her from his window as she ran home, her long fawn hair flapping in the breeze.

He knew she wasn't bluffing. The fact that he had caught her trying to sabotage him having never met her before told him she could make bad shit happen if she wanted.

Power like that wasn't physical, it required an exceptional mind and he'd gladly let Violet Harmon headfuck him any day of the week.


	4. Infatuation

**Chapter 4 - Infatuation -**

Violet's first few days of school had gone swimmingly. She was enjoying her classes the teachers were soundly individuals and no one payed attention to her so she was glad she didn't have to deal with their bullshit. She found the solitude sweet. Naturally she was an independent kid, so she didn't mind being the school's loner, she was sure she wasn't the only one.

Usually people felt bad when they deflected from their group momentarily to see a kid with no friends, most of the time those people were too selfrighteous to even consider nor realise the possibility that perhaps they were the type of person not everyone exactly wanted to befriend.

Violet was certain she could of probably made friends on the first day, she thought about completely changing her image just for fucking giggles. Sure, if she joined the cheer squad, got a popular hair cut, lost her tights, shortened her dress and finished it off with a pair of her mom's open toe wedge heels, left her brain and sense of self awareness at the front gate every morning.

But she had slept in on the first morning choosing a twenty minute snooze over des fauxamis.

At lunch time she would take the time to venture off the school grounds, because she had no one to eat lunch with anyway. A seven minute walk from Westfield High brought her pretty close to downtown LA which meant she could explore for vintage clothes, old record shops and stuff. She didn't mind living in LA, in fact she kinda liked it. It was the birth place of some of her idols and had some pretty nice hang out spots.

When she arrived home she would tell her mom it was fine then venture upstairs and lock herself in room and do her homework, smoke, cut, look at the ceiling.

It was on the fourth day however, that Violet had managed to finally find herself an enemy who had a profound dislike for cigarettes and the people who consumed them and possibly people who didn't dress like everyone else.

"Sorry, I'm new I didn't know." she had said sincerely before extinguishing the device on the concrete with the sole of her boot, but she had unknowingly just made the situation worse.

"What the hell do you think your doing? People sit here, they eat here!"

"People eat off the floor here? That's pretty gross..."

"Leah's grandma died of lung cancer, she takes this stuff very seriously." said the one with the cashmere shrug as if it made any sort of relevence to the situation, as if some eight million people didn't die from cancer every year. Violet wanted flick her in the eyeball.

Amused throughout the verbal attack, Violet watched the way in which her two minions vultured at her side like scavengers stealing verbal scraps while asserting the dominance of the alpha who was now well into feasting on her next meal and Violet's always been the carcass.

"You don't know me, why are you doing this?" The effort of going out of your way to be horrible to someone was beyond Violet. She wondered what was really bothering this girl, it definitely wasn't her grandma or cigarettes or Violet's dress.

"Eat it! Eat it or I'm gonna kick the shit out of you." Violet rolled her eyes knowing this would have been long over if her friends hadn't been with her.

"No."

But she had already laid her hands on Violet, so she gathered the contents of her throat, launched it right into her cake face and fled the crowd grinning, fearless, exhilarated she'd always wanted to do that.

Even then she would still tell her mom school was fine when she got home.

* * *

><p>Today Tate was lying on the small, widespread wall that divided his front garden from the sidewalk, his nose in one of the books his Lit class had been assigned to read for a comparative task. The location was right beneath an old mulberry tree with just the right amount of shade. It was perfect for today.<p>

Tate had already read all three books on the course some while ago but was reading them again he'd taken his meds so his mind was clear, bored. He didn't particularly like high school but he preferred it to middle school.

In middle school he was bullied a lot, but once freshman year came he vowed to protect himself from people stopped being his own mind's bitch, embraced the malevolence he had been dealt all those years ago that one time in that one basement.

In high school people feared Tate Langdon. It was a hard appearance to keep up sometimes he constantly had to terrorise people but he kind of enjoyed it. People left him alone if they knew what was good for them.

He didn't know how long he had been outside but judging by the angle at which the sun hid behind the house across the street he figured it was sometime late in the afternoon. He sat up just to make sure, not that he had anywhere to go but he liked knowing he was right.

The first thing he saw was the peak of her bowler hat ascending the slight hill of the street. He hadn't realised who it was at first but her unstyled curtain of golden locks swayed back and forth in a singlular motion as she moved, suddenly familiar a smile crept it's way onto his face.

When she eventually gets to a close enough distance from which its possible to notice him he casually returns to his book, reads and rereads the first sentence on the page, reading and rereading but not really seeing the words. Hurry up Violet.

* * *

><p>Violet noticed Tate sitting cross legged on his front wall as she came up the street. Great another asshole to deal with.<p>

She contemplates crossing the street just to pass his house before crossing back over when she reaches her own drive way. Either way she'll have to walk by him unless she did a u-turn and circled the block. She's thinking fuck it and begins to quicken her pace somewhat and marching in his direction.

He watches her speed by him unsure of how he's going to engage with her. He settled for a simple friendly "Hi" which she barely returns. He watches her walk away for a moment.

"I'm sorry I was an ass to you last week."

She stops, momentarily before she turns around, slowly. He notices she has a nasty scrape on her forehead and is taken back, moreso by the sudden feeling of rage he feels. He wants to know who had hurt her, he wants to hurt them.

"I kinda go mad when I don't take my pills, you caught me on a bad day. It's no excuse I know, but I am sorry." he confesses trutfully shrugging. He was rarely sincere with anyone but he cared what Violet thought about him and he didn't like the impression she already had.

"I was just messing around, I would have returned it, you didn't have to be so... wierd about it." she replies, folding her arms.

"I know. I shouldn't have touched you like that. Just know that I'm not like that..."

"Not a pervert?"

"No, the memory haunts me if its any consolation." he raises an inelegant eyebrow.

"I accept your apology... Tate."

It was the first time she said his name out loud and he likes how it sounds on her lips. She goes to leave but he won't have it.

"Stay a while... Please." he's never said please in his life.

"It's ok, I can see your busy with your book you don't have to pretend to be my friend I already forgave you."

Tate carelessly flings the book onto his lawn.

"I'd rather talk to you, honestly."

Violet clicks her tongue. "Alright. Wait here I'll be back."

Violet returns from her house a couple of minutes later minus her bag and her small cardigan thing, wearing a long sleeve shirt under her dress despite the heat, but he'd stopped questioning her a while ago.

Tate's keen as he watches Violet hoist herself onto the wall and sit opposite him. She swipes her hands on the dress material that's stretched across her lap removing the dusty grit from her palms. Violet seats herself comfortably in a position that is symmetrical to Tate's.

Its a while before she looks at him she's scoping her surroundings, his crooked smile meets her when she does and she silently admires his dimples.

He looks different though, from the first time she saw him, he's content, relaxed, less intimidating she hadn't realised just how nice he was to look at.

Angel face.

His eyes aren't as cold as she remembers he has dark circles but they suit his soft cheeks. his blonde hair which had appeared somewhat straight last week is more curly at the edges like he had just washed it.

It looks like baby hair.

She wants to touch but doesn't act upon it.

Lost boy.

His jeans are ripped at the knee and his jumper is frayed but he still looks decent.

The awkward silence that spells we have nothing to talk about tried to creep its way in but Violet shuns it with simple conversation.

"What were you reading?"

"Wild Swans."

"Any good?"

"Yeah it's good. I think you'd like it."

"Well you can give it to me when you're finished."

"Sure."

Tate watches Violet's eyes wander.

"This is a good spot."

He nods somnambulant.

"Why did you move here?" Tate asks then, it's forward but things aren't moving fast enough for him he needs distraction before his mind drifts somewhere dark.

Although right now it was filled with floral patterns, bowler hats and pink lips.

"My dad had an affair with his 21 year old student, my mom literally caught him in the act."

"That's horrible."

"It's disgusting. My dad was her psych lecturer at BU. She used to show up at my house sometimes pretending she was dropping off an assignment while my mom was at pilates. They probably fucked while I was in the house. She used to bring me stuff candy and things. I thought she was being nice, I'm so stupid and naive sometimes."

"You don't look stupid."

"You don't even know me."

Tate suddenly thinks of Constance but doesn't feel she's worth the effort of mentioning, no need to depress this girl more than what was evident on her delicate features.

He could tell she needed someone to talk too and he wasn't gonna shovel his own dirty hamper on her, she didn't need that.

Tate listens to Violet, how casually she speaks about her father but Tate can tell her Dad's behaviour has upset her, deeply, most of all she sounds _disappointed_.

He believes in love too, real love.

"Your right I don't but I do know if you love someone you should never hurt them, never."

There was something about Tate's quiet nature that showed Violet he was a listener, she thinks he's a bit odd but she is too she knows, so whatever, there was a difference between hearing someone and actually listening to them and not many people could.

She wants to tell him more, wants him to react, to know how she feels, metaphorically rub her back while she word vomits all over this fine wall. This was the first time she had spoken about stuff to anyone properly.

She's silent now and he doesn't know if she's done and he doesn't mind if she isn't.

"The worst part is six months earlier my mom had like this brutal miscarriage, the baby was seven months old."

Violet looks him straight in the eye eager for his reaction but likes that Tate doesn't say anything. It means he doesn't know what to say and wasn't gonna make up some bullshit.

"Have you ever seen a baby coffin?" Violet then asks pulling out a packet of cigarettes eyeing him still. There was something in Violet's tone that seemed more fascinated than upset by the concept. Tate likes that.

"Not in person, but I bet its strange."

"Yeah it's doll sized, they're usually white." she says as if it was something that didn't have a dead baby inside.

"Cause they're innocent" he adds.

"Yeah...Want one?"

"I don't smoke."

"Does it interfere with your running?" she asks lighting up.

"Something like that." he smiles, remembering how he'd caught her snooping in his room.

"Not really, I was just never into it much. I could but it would feel like a conformity or something."

"Don't want that" she mocks lazily bringing the stick to her lips.

"Nope." he pops his P. "Why do you smoke?"

"Cravings." she exhales slowly as if it weren't obvious.

"No I mean, why'd you start?"

She shrugs "enjoyed it the first time I guess, also cause it pisses my parents off."

"Fair enough." Tate finds Violet's acts of rebellion practically void, innocent, he's almost disappointed but something clicks.

Under all that frustration and angst she still loved her parents.

He watches her smoke silently, like they're all she has in the world.

"What the fuck is that?" Violet asks before he hears it, then he does the blatant drone, the megaphone the nasaly voice.

Violet's eyes are fixated beyond him down the road and he knows she's looking at a tram full of tourists coming their way.

"Murder house tour." Tate mutters placidly but he's annoyed, he's ferociously digging up a piece of moss from a small crevasse that joins two bricks on the wall.

"I feel like I'm in Warner Brother's" smoke streams gracefully from her nostrils.

"Welcome to LA."

"Have to ever been?"

"In a studio?" Tate asks knowing thats not what she meant but hoping she'll decide to drop the subject.

"No, the murder house.."

"You're not allowed go in there."

"I bet you've been in there" she's leaning over to pick at the other end of the moss filled crack he's digging up. Tate thinks carefully about how he was going to reply.

"Yeah I have.."

"More than once?"

"Of course, I live here."

"What's it like?"

"Terrifiying."

"I believe you." her eyes are wide, brilliant. "Will you take me sometime? Show me the house."

He'd take her pretty face anywhere she wanted.

"Like a private tour?"

"Yeah I guess."

"I don't know." he says in a small voice looking at the battle wound on her forehead, an ugly little picture already forming in his head. She notices he's looking past her, deranged, blank, she thinks he's on something.

"Helooo Tate" she's waving a hand in front of his face. He looks at her bewildered.

"What are you thinking about?" she's eyeing him curiously.

He's thinking about her viscera under his fingernails, he wants to taste it.

"Sorry what?" his face is mellow now as he looks at her she notices his fists unclench from his trouser legs.

"You, your a fucking fruit loop do you know that?"

His erraticness should be unnerving but she's not bothered, she thinks she's seen worse come out of her dad's office.

"Are you okay?" she smiles finding his behaviour somewhat hilarious.

"Yeah fine." he smiles at her sweetly.

"So will you then?"

"Will I what?"

"Show me the murder house."

"What makes you think I will?"

"Cause its my birthday tomorrow and you fucking owe me for touching my ass."

"You wanna spend your birthday in a haunted house?" the more she opens her crazy mouth the more he's liking what he hears.

"Is it really haunted?"

"What do you think?" they're picking moss again.

"I know you can make anything appear so if you believe it enough."

"Tell that to the congragation... Wait, you said you forgave me?" he distracts himself feeling the horror show in his head fading away somewhere deep in his subconsious, he sees only the scrape on her head now, nothing more, nothing worse.

"I did, but I was gonna go by myself anyway sometime, I just thought it would be fun to go with... you know - another human being, and you seem to be familiar with the place so logically you would actually be the most practical person to ask."

"So you find me practical? Is that your way of picking me up?" he teases.

"Believe what you want, remember." she winks.

"Fine, I'll take you." the thought of getting to holding a scared Violet's hand suddenly warms the idea up nicely in his brain.

"Cool, it's a date." she grins wildly.

"Really?" he doesn't mean for it to come out as hopeful as it did. Hopefully she didn't notice. Fuck, of course she did he thought.

"Totally, let's see, tomorrow is the fifteenth, yep its definitely is a date, it's also a day, a Friday." she says sarcastically.

"Whatever. So is this your sweet sixteenth?"

"Sixteen yes, sweet not so much. My parents have this bullshit reservation downtown and I'm gonna have to sit and watch them feed each other chicken and pretend they love each other, I might ask for plastic cutlery in case I completely loose my shit."

"Oh."

"How'd you know my age?"

"Constance talks about you a lot, that's partly why I was so pissed when I found you in my room I thought she was behind it. It's kinda embarrassing I was hoping I didn't have to tell you actually."

"She wouldn't have to bribe me."

"Clearly." he scoffs, "I found you in there snooping all by yourself."

A small throaty laugh erupts from her small mouth and he thinks its possibly the nicest sound he's heard in a while.

"Unbelievable. How do you put up with her? She's so..." Violet's struggling to find words.

"Wrong?" it wasn't a question.

"Yeah."

"I just pretend she doesn't exist. You should try it."

"Yeah, my parents are kind of... loud." she paused "...When they argue I mean...Shit." she stutters.

Tate was grinning like an idiot now, Violet scowled. Inhaling the last drag of her cigarette she flicked it to the curb, the memory of that Malibu bitch all up in her face. They both watched it fall, watched it burn out slowly with genuine fascination.

"So what time do you want to go at? Day or night?"

"Day."

"Chicken shit." he teased.

"Hey! I'll be with my parents in the evening, and besides I really really don't want to have to go to gym class in the morning."

"Westfield right?"

"I hate it, I hate everyone there and all their boushee designer bullshit."

"What happened to your head? That happen today?"

"Yeah, these three girls have a vendetta against me cause I was smoking on school grounds yesterday. They attacked me today at lunch."

"Three against one?"

"I know right? Pathetic."

"It's sad." For them moreso, Tate was already planning out in his head how he was going to make these girls pay.

"Do you go to another school? I havn't seen you there." Violet picked at the hem of her skirt trying to mask her curiosity.

"I'm on a suspension." he admits it sheepishly, like he was talking about getting an A grade having cheated.

"Really? What did you do?" Violet grinned.

_"Violet!"_ it was Vivien's voice.

"Shit I gotta go."

"Don't worry I'll tell you tomorrow." Violet couldn't deny she was excited, she finally had someone she could somewhat call a friend here.

"Meet you outside the place at eight thirty? It's just I need to make it look like I'm going to school and its on the way."

He nods twice as he watches her drop down almost smoothly and walk away.

"Tate?" she spins around.

"Yeah?"

"How old are you?"

"I was seventeen last month. Why?" he smiles, gleefully knowing she knew he knew why she was asking.

"Oh right, well I'll see you tomorrow psycho Tate." she's trying to be cute smiling at him over her shoulder, she thinks its funny.

Poor girl has no fucking idea, but he smiles at her anyway and watches her walk away his face purely smitten.

He's infatuated by her to say the least.


	5. House of Hell part I

**Chapter 5 - House of Hell (part I) -**

Tate felt as though something was off.

Tate had woken up earlier than usual this morning with clammy skin, a sickening knot in his stomach. Something was seriously bothering him, and not the usual treble woes he had been so miserly burdened with over the years.

He took a double dose of his meds as well as paracetamol but he wasn't thinking clearly and the mix of pills just made him feel ill. After he vomited once he lay down for a bit until the effects subsided and he was sober again, he took a cold shower, had a cup of black coffee, he couldn't eat, it was seven AM by then.

At first he was worried, had thought he caught a stomach bug_, _he hoped it was a stomach bug and not something else, he could deal with nausea that was nothing compared to other things.

But not today. The last thing he wanted to do was cancel on Violet.

Some while later when his expected rage didn't come he realised rather sheepishly what he was feeling was in fact excitement.

He was excited to spend the day with Violet. He'd never been excited about a girl in his life, so the feeling was mildly self assuring. It was her sixteenth birthday today, and she had allocated time for him especially. Giddy was not even the word.

Tate had been sitting on the steps of the murder house for thirty four minutes now.

Tate had primarily ventured down there early to check out the place just incase, he hadn't been there in a long time, he tried to avoid the place at all costs anything to make getting better easier. He didn't really know what he was doing or what he was looking for exactly but he knew he needed to do something.

Everytime he thinks he remembers stuff, has a nightmare he mentally jots it down but then something comes along and erases the next piece like a backspace button, and he's back to square one, he's left with a blank document splattered red with the mess he always seems to leave behind him and no recollection of how or why.

His sessions, he barely remembers the next day, it's just the cruel world and the diegetic noise of his mother's shrill, telling him he's fucked up again.

He's tried to write stuff down like diary keeping but when he looks over it the next day it doesn't make sense, the characters don't register, sometimes it's not even in english, sometimes what he's written frightens him, they're not his words, thay can't be - but they are. It's as if someone else wrote it sneakily as a joke.

He hopes it's the meds but he knows it's not. He scares himself and that's the worst kind of scared because it's a scared you can't escape no matter how many perscriptions you have in your pocket. But now he's finally found a way to distract himself, she's a beautiful distraction worming her way in and it's a good feeling for once.

His watch reads eight twenty one and he knows Violet should be here anytime shortly, they had agreed to meet at half past eight. Violet was ditching school for the day.

Tate also needed the extra time to prepare himself. He could go in on his own without much difficulty but today he had a responsibility.

Keeping a girl like Violet out of trouble was going to require his absolute full attention.

But his nerves were still grating something just felt off, the anxiety died a short death however once he saw her, his own Pietas.

Violet arrived four minutes early. She stopped in front of the lot and looked around her unsure of whether she should step on the property but mainly because she couldn't see Tate anywhere.

When she does see him she smiles widely, although the butterflies currently knocking lumps out of her insides really needed fuck off and fly away.

She enters without hesitation and Tate comes down to meet her half way in the front garden looking fresh in faded blue jeans and a green and black striped sweater. The bags under his eyes are more prominant than usual like he hadn't slept last night but his strong bone structure could pull of the handsome-deranged look he always had about him. He made her twinge in places a lot, she hated it but he was the best wank material she's had in ages, odd as he was, she liked him, a lot.

"Hey" she's still smiling as they lean in for a friendly hug.

"Hello, happy birthday."

"Thank you."

"Was it?"

"Was it what?"

"happy?"

"Alright I guess." she shrugs her shoulders casually. He notices she has a camera with her, she's too cute sometimes.

She's always as beautiful as he remembers, yet there's always something different like he notices a freckle or facial feature, a certain laugh or tone he's never heard. And he hopes he's around her long enough to experience all of them, experience her in new ways all over again and again.

Her hair was the same as always. Long, straight, silky and perched perfectly on her small shoulders. Today she was wearing jeans and an oversized purple sweater that hung of one shoulder a delicate undergarment strap peeping out at him and his insides are churning with lustful reverence and puppy love.

"Come on then lets go then." she notices him eyeing her, feels a bit awkward.

"Alright." he returns his gaze to her face. "You wanna see the house or the basement first?"

"Basement, obviously."

"Okay, but I gotta warn you this place is pretty scary."

"I'm not scared of anything." she says confidently as they walk side by side around the side of the house.

"Bet I can scare you." he challenges.

"You can try, but you will fail."

"We'll see."

* * *

><p>"The only way to actually get in the house without breaking and entering is this small window through the basement, so you chose right. The other windows and doors were barred up years ago to keep out the vandals, squatters and junkies getting in and stuff. It's always been smashed since as far as I can remember. It's how I always get in anyway." he informs her casually as they pass through the long grass home to bits of random garbadge and old furniture, a satelite dish, an egg carton.<p>

"Do people just dump their crap here?" Violet asks, dodging what looked very like remains of a dead something.

Something inside her unnerves but she ignores it. She's not scared.

"Pretty much."

They stop somewhere around the back of the house and Violet admires the untamed gardens of trees and wild flowers, she's definitely visiting these again with a book maybe hopefully with Tate.

Naturally, the basement was lower than the exterior terrain and there are mangled, broken steps leading down to what she figures must an entrance.

Tate is first to descend before holding a rather chivalrous hand out to Violet who has no choice but to accept it now that it's in front of her face, her lack of coordination would appreciate it at least.

"Your handshake is firm Langdon."

"Really?"

"Yeah, like a congressman." She smiles ryly. She wanted to keep hold of his hand because she likes the feel of hers inside it, but she knows it was saying I'm scared so it wasn't an option.

Once down a level, Tate climbs in the small broken window and he's gone from her view.

She sees only a black expansive square, she's Alice and this is the rabbit hole.

She takes one last look around her at the beautiful garden, the birds and the sun before she see's his pale hand reach out from the inside the black. He holds the sharp ivy twigs back from the frame granting Violet entrance.

"I just don't want you to loose those lovely eyes." he courts.

"You and me both."

When her feet hit the floor with a thundering echo she manages to disturb a thick layer of ancient dust which dances around her aimelessly, she breathes unknowingly and it sticks to back of her nose and throat. It's salty, scratchy she coughs immediately, quite violently.

"Those cigarettes will kill you you know." he jokes somberly, but she can't really see him.

"Shut up." a cigarette really is the last thing on her mind now though.

"You alright?" He's concerned, debating whether he should touch her remembering what she said last week.

"I'm fine, it's so damp down here, the air is thick as fuck."

It was so damp Violet's skin felt wet, as though she was just submerged into a pond of smog, the hefty atmosphere carries their voices in sepulchral cold echoes that bounce off far walls she can't see.

She can hear her voice projected back to her from the other side, it takes a while to return though. When it does, it carries other noises it's picked up along the way, crackles, flutters, buzzes and drones. It's an empty static like when you bounce a ball down a dark tunnel, you can't see it but you can still hear it beside you like it's never left you.

The place was stained with the smell of mold and something else she can't register yet but it smells gross, unnatural.

"Tate what the fuck died in here?" she looks at him but she's talking to herself, he's gone.

It's dark.

She realises only now just how much, without him suddenly, it's paractically void of light, except for the small window but it almost cowers back from the forthcoming dark expanse he's disappeared into.

He appears again, startling her.

"Yeah it's pretty dingy, you'll get used to it though. Here you'll need this." Tate pulls out two small flashlights from his pocket, he hands one to Violet.

He's suddenly beside her like he never left, maybe he never did...

It doesn't make sense, that's what unhinges her about this place, not what could be lurking in it although maybe it could be a bit of both.

"Thanks."

"It gets pretty dark in most places even during the day," he says clicking his on "theres so much crap in here the place is a shadow magnet."

"Lots of places for ghosts to hide."

he smiles menacingly, not so cute.

Violet tries to sound funny when she says that but the place was a lot creepier than she had expected and it was hard to breathe which was making it harder to stay calm, harder to think. She was definitely glad she hadn't acted upon wandering in here solo, although if anything got to her it would be lack of oxygen not ghosts.

Jesus christ that smell was getting more poignant and not the moldy one. But she wanted to go further, something telling her to, like a flirtatious force. It's cooler in there than outside in the swealtering heat which should come as a relief but coupled with the dark she's suddenly longing for that cursed LA sun.

"I've read about this place...Did some research..."

"Oh yeah?" Tate leads them forward into the onyx haze.

"Yeah... It was built in 1922 by Doctor Charles Montgomery for his wife Nora..." Violet begins to recite the Montgomery history to Tate.

"That's right."

Violet may as well have been blind, unexpecting as to what was behind each turning corner and found she had to speak in intervals using the quiet gaps to gather her breath, collect her thoughts but watch him mainly incase he disappears again, until he grants the okay through his continuation forward.

"Tate how many times have you been in here?" the window to the outside is getting smaller, further away each time she looks behind her, but she chooses him, she chooses the darkness.

He doesn't answer.

He's speaking to her less, it's an inconvenient coincidence she's sure, he's just concentrating on finding his way, she thinks, so she keeps the flashlight on the small space before her feet, she has no desire to see what surrounds her.

Bang.

It hits her shin bones hard with a bone shock, she knows its wood immediately so she doesn't freak, she's pissed instead because its annoying when you knock into things.

"FUCCCK."

"Yeah, watch out for that." Tate's shining his flashlight behind him it falls upon a knocked over rocking chair close to Violet's feet.

Its creepy but its looking pretty artsy so she snaps a shot of it. The flash in the dark is slow like a time freeze, it lingers in the air, like when you sleepily flick on a light in the middle of the night.

"Come here." he has her hand suddenly and is pulling her around so that her back is pressed against his chest.

"You should probably stay up front before you kill yourself." he whispers in her ear, neither one know how often the thought crosses each other's mind.

"Shut up!" his laugh is a warm breath against her hair, he's not so creepy anymore, his fingers linger on her hip guiding her forward.

"I want to show you something, look." he places the flash light into her own hand and moves away from her.

Violet's standing before what appears to be a considerably bland white wall, somewhat irked, unsure of what she was supposed to be looking at, something invisible?

Tate suddenly starts dismantling the center brick by ancient brick.

He's no longer behind her and she feels exposed. Violet looks around her eyes greeted only by what she can't see. She stands casually with a burning tibia, she folds her arms across her chest, she keeps his flashlight at an angle so that it illuminates Tate the whole time.

"This better be good, this shit hole is a death trap."

"Ouch Violet, the house has feelings show some respect."

The contents behind the wall slowly begin to reveal themselves as Violet pieces together in dim light the pieces of this visual puzzle. There were jars lots of glass jars. She's smiling now because she's realised he knows what she's likes.

".Way." she drops down on her hunches beside Tate and shoves his shoulder in disbelief. Without hesitation she picks up one of the jars and idly rotates it like some macabre snow globe, watching how the infant foot gyrates slowly in the syrupy iodine.

"I knew you'd like these." Tate smirks triumphantly.

"Are these fake? You're taking the piss aren't you?"

"Nope they're real, see..." Tate screws the lid off one and shoves it under her nose, the rotten smell of formaldehyde almost knocks her out.

"Gross!" she pushes the jar away. "It's so...surreal, it's like the Mutter museum in Philly, have you ever been?" Violet asks scanning the other various jars yet to find something as awesome as the baby foot.

"No." Tate shook his head "maybe you could take me sometime." he offers quietly, hopefully.

"I'd like that." she smiles placing the foot back.

"Here, Happy Birthday" he jokes handing her what was quite literally an aborted foetus' head bald and shrivled up like a dried peach.

"Shhhhit." she practically grabs it out of his hand. Tate's all too pleased by how awesome she finds this crap.

"The Montgomery's had a baby, you know." Violet informs Tate.

"...yeah they did." Tate said slowly.

"But it was kidnapped and murdered, cut up into pieces, put in a box and sent back to them like take out."

"Awesome."

"I know."

"So is it true then?"

"What?"

"Doctor Montgomery..uhm... "

"Sowed the baby back together like Frankenstein?" Tate couldn't help but goad her on now.

"...Ehh..yeah." the flash erupts when she snaps a shot of the jars.

"You know, your mom's baby probably looked something like this."

Tate's allergy to discretion is suddenly a problem for him because he's speaking to Violet and it was too late now he had already said it, her forehead was emotionally creased up and he wanted to kick himself in the dick.

But she smiled, she fucking smiled at him from beneath that curtain of gold, she's holding a baby head and the contents of her stomach have not stirred, of course she smiled.

"Yeah totally. Can you imagine if I took this home and my mom found it?" she scoffs toying with the baby head jar.

"You wouldn't."

"Of course I wouldn't, that would be cruel."

"I'm sorry Violet, really for what happened to your family." Tate places a hand over Violet's free one which was resting on her leg. She looks at their hands for a moment before she moves hers to place some of her hair back behind her ear.

"It's okay. Its not like I knew it...the baby, I was mostly sad for my mom it literally destroyed her. You know this would actually look pretty cool in my dad's office cause he likes to mess with poeple's heads and stuff." it sounds more spiteful than generous.

"Your dad is...?"

"He's a shrink."

"Oh." this interests Tate too much.

"He's a shit one though, I honestly don't know how he makes a living out of it."

But his eyes are drifting past her head staring into the darkness.

"What are you looking at?" she looks behind her back.

"Nothing."

She doesn't believe him.

Violet helps Tate seal the wall back up after they put the jars back.

"Wanna see the rest of the house?" Tate says as they both stand up.

"Obviously!"

Violet's following behind Tate as they retrace their steps, for all she could see she could have sworn they were moving in a different direction.

"Yeah...anyway" she continues, " I heard the doctor was a drug addict and he couldn't keep a job so his wife-AHHH!"

Violet jerks to the side feeling its large mass first.

She feels it slide beneath the sole of her foot moving them both across the concrete, it's slippery, stiff, dead.

She's sliding,

He's nowhere around,

There's only dark air to grab onto when she reaches out. She does grab something, her fingers feel what must be dust, although it's more like fluff though, it feels like hair because it's heavy and stale, thick as it is, it's also useless.

When her knees hit the frozen concrete with a dense smack it stings up into her hip, she winces. Her knees are wet and it feels like that one Christmas when she cut too deep, she and aunt Jo's sink were covered, except now she can't tell if it's coming from her or from this thing...

There's only a manic chuckle behind her head, it's his, it has to be his, it can't not be his. She can't see him but she feels him, locates her pulse agressive behind her ears. Naturally when you can't see, your other senses heighten - they have to because it's survival instinct, your whole body becomes a throbbing genital awaiting a stimulus-

"Violet, your shaking, it's just a possum, oh look its actually a kitty cat awww."

When she feels him, it's firm, unexpected, a tight surprising hand around her small unsuspecting bicep pulling her up towards him, it hurts to stand, _ouch_ she winces, sqeezing her eyes shut, she's reluctant, but being near his crazy ass beats being on the bloody, dark floor.

He's extatic when he sees it, shines the dim light downwards onto the red mess she's made of it on the floor its slitty eyes are yellow incandescent under the torch, devouring Violet's like the horde of bright shivering maggots they move like a single ripple, feasting on its dry tongue, its little fangs are on full display, white amidst the yellow, black and red.

"Oh that this too, too sullied flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew..." he mocks in a stupid voice, poking at it playfully with his foot like a beef burger sponge and Violet stares intrinsically at the red spit that fizzles out from it's gaping mouth and other stiff bodily holes. The odour it secretes is repulsing like a fish market in a desert.

She's decided she's never eating red meat again. Her own blood is always clean when it surfaces, she's gagging, he's silent, he's smiling she knows he is. Sick bastard.

SNAP.

He takes her camera and snap shots the little rotten carrion like its an artifact.

"STOP! Tate, I don't want to see its fucking guts on my film and stop quoting Hamlet..." she hisses taking the camera back annoyed that she fell over in front of him.

She's injured, partially blind, theres diseased cat juice on her favourite Levis and he's acting like a seedy little shit.

"Did you hurt yourself?" he asks in a low voice shinning the light on Violet she see's only the gaudy strain of the bulb, she can't see what's around her only her own skin illuminated, which looks foreign, pallid in the small light, she's uncomfortable in herself - around him and she doesn't know where to put her god damn feet because she can't see anything.

"No! and get the light out of my face." she's defensive, her palms and knees are stinging angrily.

"Ether, he was addicted to ether.." he diverts the torch ahead of them continues her story gesturing for her to follow him.

"Yeah..." Violet's failing to remember the history she's searching with frantic eyes for the flashlight she dropped when she slipped.

"So... his wife turned"

her eyes pace around

"his practice into an..."

clearly it had rolled somewhere desolate.

"abortion clinic."

She gives up frustrated. A broken flashlight is of little use in the dark but injured, blind, beside creepy Tate, it's a blunt object in her hand. Dark, it's still so dark she can't even describe how dark it is.

Now, she has only his light to follow, her footing is right behind his but he's grating her nerves, annoyingly swinging the torch by its string in circular motions, fractions of light are fluttering off the corners of the cellar revealing irregular white shapes and shadows. Her vision jumps to check each one for eyes and ghoulish features but they disappear just as quick as they take shape in her mind, they're probably nothing, they have to be nothing, seeing is believing - she hopes it isn't though.

"Tate stop I can't see wh-wha" her words evaporate off her lips, she's shivering - cold.

A drop in temperature, like a depressing whisper.

A breath of cold fingers runs along the back of her neck with it miniscule hairs are dragged erect, a fever of goosebumps rapidly spread down her spinal chord.

She shivers, again and shivers again, she can't stop.

She halts abruptly when he turns to face her full on, there's something wrong, there's something wrong.

"Cold spot." his grin is menacing.

"You know what they say that means?"

"...what?" she snaps, after a moment to pissed and scared to play along with his bullshit.

"It means you've come into contact with a spirit." he's eerily giddy.

"Ha. Ha. Ha." she mocks but her insides are lumps and knots and expecting an invisible something to come out and murder her.

_"Go away"_ it's faint, barely audible, but she was sure she heard him mutter those words.

That was before she passed out.

Suddenly everything was black for real.

The last thing she felt was a pair of hands grabbing her.


	6. House of Hell part II

_**Warnings:** this piece contains graphic scenes of violence, mutilations and psychological anguish._

**I will come back to correct typos soon. :)  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Oh my dear you're alive! How unfortunate."<p>

Panic.

Each syllable she hears is like an icepick in the face, another crack, another realisation that the worst fate she could possibly imagine was about to befall her.

"Not to worry, you've just been heavily sedated."

Violet opens her eyes a crack further to the unhealthy yellow glow of a light that ghosts above her head. The insects that buzz around it cast black flickers on the walls until they get too close, scald their wings and fall dead with a mere singe.

A diminished, hollow cheeked Doctor sits before her, his crooked thin wired glasses are perched on top of his surgical cap, there's a swab of blood on his cheek, fresh beads of sweat on his temple. She's sore. She knows now who's blood it is and why he's sweating, why her face has heated up suddenly, why she's afraid.

It's the pungent waft of ammonia then that makes Violet's nose shrivel and recoil in reaction. Her stomach reacts violently so she holds her breath. The gas waits heavily on her dry tongue waiting, waiting for her to breathe, have a little taste of the sterile poison that has crept through her teeth, down the back of her nose, it stings beneath her eyelids.

There are no windows and there are no vents, just lengths of scumy pea green tiles. Following the noisy clank of instruments on metallic trays, the sturdy presence of buckled contraints on her limbs suddenly sends her heart into an erratic frenzy of cold terror. She inhales reluctantly,the chloride fills her airwaves, she tastes it's sourness as it burns the lining of her oesophagus raw. Without the strength to cough, she just drowns and chokes silently, fresh tears fall a salty seasoning on her desiccated lips.

There's a draft but no open door. She feels it on her backside because her legs are open, her bottom half is naked. Her genital folds are numb and icy with the abnormal cold exposure, she clenches in attempt to get the blood flowing there, afraid to look down at herself, afraid of what he might have done to her. She needs to close her legs, but her thighs are strapped to bars on either side. The steel is chilly on the exterior skin of each thigh, the added ropey constraints, scratchy and tight they leave hot red marks on her soft flesh. There's a straining cramp in her shoulder, her elbows, her hips, her kneecaps, her neck she's just tiwsted nerves and a thundering heart.

The Doctor is wheezing, snuffing and sniffing at something like a dog in a trash can. It's a sweet smell she gets, it's toxic and it couples with the bleach fumes inside her nostrils. Violet's mouth salivates, as the back of her throat becomes lined with hot bile. She's hoping she'll drown in her own vomit before he starts on her. Those insects had it easy, they had it quick.

It's sharp...

The unexpected, malicious prick of what could be an insect, legless and venemous on the underside of her arm, she loses control of her lungs, jerks her head in it's direction and sees urine coloured liquid inside a syringe. It swirls and drains hungrily into her bulging vein. She feels it swimming up inside her arm, more poison, more pain. Hot blood rushes and fills her head until her brain is swimming in a soupy haze of it. Her eyelids flutter, although they're welded by her salty moisture of distress. She's alone, not that she has the srength to scream.

"Styrene, it's a paralysis. It will make this a lot easier for you." the doctor informs her.

She whimpers, helpless.

"Make what easier?" she's afraid to ask but she does because she needs to know.

She's almost wonders where Tate is, was he suffering to? Right now though she just wants to move away from the needle. She wriggles like a maggot under a burning microscope, without flesh, without bone, she feels nothing there. She wonders if he's dislocated them, crushed or sucked them out with one of his deadly instruments, her spine is as soft as a limp dick, useless.

"STOP OH MY GOD WHAT ARE YOU DOING, PLEASE... PLEASE NO!"

Violet's sobs are tonic spasms of pure terror when she catches the glint of a scalpel near her shaking open legs, the plush, tender, unexpecting folds of her sex are full of blood about to be spilled. She clenches, and shuts her eyes, with a shaking force. This isn't a blade on her wrist, she isn't in control. She screams but it goes no further than her throat, she's knawing on her bottom lip like a deranged hamster.

Violet watches the sharp tip venture close to her flesh, her face flushes angrily as her arteries pummel against her skin in frightened anticipation, gathering enough juices in that specific location for a magnificant squirt.

When the blade alters it's course, she's thankful for a spilit second until it melts into her abdomen with a swift, clean downward slice. When the blade catches in the rigid, hard center of her navel, the doctor twiddles, yanks and fiddles, tears messily through the fibrous nub, destroying her entire belly button to shreds.

She roars loudly.

A sharp array of throbbing nerves explode deep in her groin, her hips retract into the mattress as she clenches hard, she goes to put a hand down to press away the discomfort, the pain - but they're strapped down by her sides, all she can do is squirm and contract under the impending surgean's light, hoping he will slice down no further .

"I've just cut your medium umbilical ligament dear, it's an erogenous zone. Odd isn't it how this little chord can choke a foetus to death?" comes the doctors voice from inbetween her legs.

Violet feels her blood seep down her pubic line and over and under filling up all her holes at the mouth, it travels right down under the curve of her ass and onto the crusty sheets, spreading and squelching under her wriggling cheeks. Violet shakily lays her head back, her neck jerking with silent, frantic sobs, as she rides out these excrutiating throbbing spasms of dismembered neurons, she's shaking her head bitterly, willing away this excruciation, still clenching hard.

It's loud, a BANG BANG, a dense thud, a pounding behind the wall to her right, it screeches and wails. BANG. There's something trying to break through something, a door, less than three feet away from her, it's rugged, excited claws scrape at the interior wood, snarling, BANG, it thunders like a demon with a bad dose of rabies.

"What is that?" Violet's crying horribly.

"It's just our son Thaddeus, he smells your blood."

BANG. The hinges are popping off the supply closet door fast, the frail wood splinters and cracks under the impact. She can already imagine the deformed Montogomery spawn, it's claws BANG inside her, ripping open her BANG chest to engage in monstrous bone snapping thoracic coitus, before it BANG sucks out her marrow BANG. Violet can hear it breathing, sniffing at the cracks in the door.

"PLEASE! No! Please don't let it eat me! stitch me up, stitch me up please!"

BANG.

"Please hold still now, I need you to keep steady."

When she looks down again she's sickened to her severed core.

Her lower abdominal skin has been peeled back, the counter flaps have been folded back, pinned neatly to her hips like a pin cushion. Her intestines are glossy in appearance, lumpy, lifeless snakes like soggy, brown paper chains, unraveld and draped along the same bars that constrict her thighs. The feel of their slimy exterior is unbearably wet against the skin of her legs, she tries to move but he has his hands inside her. The doctor's whistling as he sifts through his incision. Elbow deep, he's flinging visceral slop and muscle behind his shoulders, it cakes against the wall with aimless wet slaps.

"How... did I get here?" violet slurs, drowzy she swallowing a mouthful of vomit.

"Why the young man brought you here, blondie fellow. He said he lured you in here out of your own free will, guess that's what you deserve for trusting strangers..." the doctor chuckles.

There's a dull movement inside her abdomen, she realises he's pulling something out of her, he yanks and she moves down the bed along with it - as far as the constraints allow. they tug on her strained joints - she's still attached to whatever he wants from inside her, he hacks and hacks and snips away until the bloody morsel is his.

She doesn't feel anything anymore except nausea.

Violet watches him hand some part of her to a waiting pair of hands with red polished nails, she can't see who they belong to or what he's stolen. Paralized from the neck down, only her mind is free to grieve over the fact that Tate betrayed her, brought her here after she trusted him. She had ignored the warning signs about him but now they were all coming to her at once with every slice and rip and tear.

She tries to distract herself mentally but all she comes up with is creepy shit. Her mind flicks to past history projects it's as if she's in the company of Joseph Mengele or some other kind of devil and Irma Grese is banging away in the closet beside her. They want her, want to make a lampshade out of her, she's soap, she's part of some sick pseudo-medical experiment, a small child awaiting genital mutilation.

She knows she should be dead, but she's not. She wants to die, but she can't, the poison is keeping her alive, keeping her sedated. She has to lie there on this smelly leather bed and watch him tear her apart from the inside out. It's her punishment for letting her guard down, for letting him in.

Frustrated and heartbroken she waits for the blackness to take her wholly and is sorely disappointed when it does not.

A delirious scope of the room catches a woman with blonde curls sitting across from her. She's swinging idly in a rocking chair, humming an illusory tune. Violet tries to concentrate on the woman and not the doctor who's violating her half dead body. The woman is sewing, Violet watches her fingers flutter intricately through her craft. The needle jams every so often in the thickness of her material.

"Such a beautiful girl, it's such a shame. You would have produced some fine offspring Violet." the doctor's voice suddenly draws her away from the lady in the chair and back to the red mess in front of her.

"Nevermind Charles, now I'll have all the babies she'll never have!"

Violet drags her weak gaze back to the lady who's coming forth into the light.

Fleshy bobble capped tubes, pale and rubbery in appearance they dangle from the small mass of small organ Nora Montgomery has neatly sown to her crotch as a joke.

"Slippery little ovaries, they're proving much to hard to pin down." she sqeezes them with a succulence her tone does not bear.

Violet's chest contracts upon the realisation until suddenly she's breathing bricks through a drinking straw. The doctor and his wife cackle at Violet's dangling uterus hanging unnaturally from the front of his wife's skirt, it's exterior bloody and bruised by the needle pricks. Violet's grieving sobs are loud and syncopated, unheard.

There's a concentrated tide of acid rising up inside her throat again, she can't swallow it this time so she presses her chin against her chest trapping it, it's a desperate attempt to suffocate herself. The bile is anxious to say hello though, and dribbles it's way through her teeth, bubbles out from her mouth and rolls under her chin and down her musty hospital gown. There's dizzy spells and purple spots clouding her vision she's about to pass out, but she's still afraid she'll wake up, worse off than she is now, post DIY castration job. The new sound of a grinding vibration, a buzzing drill onto what could only be bone, is suddenly enough to knock her out.

When she opens her eyes again it's brighter.

She's still there.

The puddles of chilled blood beneath her have somewhat solidified due to the excess quantity like red smelly mud.

The room is empty, still dreary tiles and dried blood on the walls, on the clock - the clock without hands. There's no time keeping in hell...go figure.

At least she feels she's been sewn up, quite messily though. The make shift attempt worries her because it means it's temporary, he's not finished with her yet. By now she presumes the sedative has worn off although her pain is more of a lulling sting, she's become accustomed to it, she finds it frightening how quickly the human body can adapt to such vilest mutations.

She rubs her eyes with a stiff hand and freezes. There's no ties on her arms and legs and waist, she's free. But it's a trick, it has to be, a sick test, a sadistic mindgame, she's in hell and there are no get out of jail free cards.

"You look like dog shit."

It's Tate sitting across from her in a chair, with a menacing grin.

"..." she groans, it's a noise of exhaustion and hatred towards the blonde devil but mostly sadness.

"Yeah...I untied you. Let's play a game." he's toying with a kitchen knife.

"Tate..." she croaks.

"I'll count to twenty, and you run. If I catch you I'll slit your throat."

She's roaring, roaring crying.

"18...17..."

Violet desperately tries to sit up but the strings of sober pain that shoot up through her torso shove her back down. Her mouth is cotton, her tongue is welded to the roof of her jaw. She tries again more slowly but her movement ruptures a fist sized blood clot which causes fresh, wet, copper smelling crimson to seep through her stiff, blood stained gown.

"14...13..."

When her bare feet hit the arctic floor she feels ten times as heavy, she staggers, disorientated, wreaking of her own rotting innards she limps towards the door while frantically trying to hold the loose stitching closed, the remaining dismemebered organs beneath are loose and tangled. They fall down and press heavily against the monstrous incision her cramaped, blood crusted fingers struggle to pinch shut. More red seeps through her crusty gown, sticky and hot, her head spins multi-clockwise. She feels what might be a lung slide down her back on the inside, when it greedily pulls on her trachea, it chokes her senseless.

It can't be right it doesn't make sense, she's supposed to be dead. BANG.

"10...9...come on Violet, Thaddeus is gonna get you!" Tate chimes.

BANG.

She hobbles past him, waiting to feel his blade inside her, she's knocking trays and trollies over, they smash and crash around her onto the floor, their deathly instruments spread out across the tiles like waiting traps and hellish rabbit snares. Her hysteric cries are alien to her, they almost frighten her more than he does. She jiggles the stiff handle it wont budge.

"8...7..." he's laughing.

It finally opens with a merciful loud click.

* * *

><p>The light is bright, but cold, she stumbles out heavy, like a gutted sheep into a sprightly blue waiting room.<p>

Confusion.

She drags herself upright, grabbing the arm of a chair for leverage, she's leaking profusely, her feet leave red sticky foot prints behind her on the carpet.

Sick, sullen pregnant women surround her. They're sitting along the walls in chairs almost shoulder to shoulder, waiting to go in. Some pregnancies are more noticable than others. Some have other children with them, malnourished babies with red agitated faces, screaming and wailing like they know, they know this place is evil, they're only more food for that thing in the closet.

Violet wants to scream too but she can't, her insides don't function anymore she's a sack of giblet slop.

She's shaking each of them now with one weak arm, the other is struggling to keep her body in one piece, she needs to warn these women.

"GET OUT OF HERE NOW! HE'S GOING TO HURT YOU!" Violet's screaming her face off, using energy she doesn't have, energy she needs to get her out of here.

She's frantically limping from side to side and back and forth, over and over. When she catches her leg on the sharp edge of the coffee table she looses her grip on her abdominal skin flap.

It's large when it slips out and down to the floor, a slimy shit coloured rope. By now the floor is already stained and puddled with the glut of her external bleeding. She slips on it repeatedly without intention, there's so much, it bubbles up inbetween her toes until she falls, trips over her idly swinging colon.

When her knees land on it she squishes and rips the flesh, a surge of pain is delivered right the way up and throughout her slashed up digestive system.

She hisses, her face soaken with the sweat, tears and blood of the terror she's endured in that evil disgusting room. All the more reason to try again.

"I SAID YOU NEED TO GO IT'S NOT SAFE." she's screaming on her knees like a maniac.

They're ignoring her as if they can't see her - she realises they can't.

"FUCKING LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT WHAT HE DID TO ME."

Nothing.

They're not real, just cardboard mannequins. The telephone at the reception buzzes. There's coughs and sighs and general restlessness. There's flicks of magazine pages, the rhythm of tapping manicured nails on hard surfaces.

"Excuse me miss, have you miscarried?" it's a kind warm hand on her shoulder, a nurse. Violet's greatful.

"No, I'm not pregnant, but please, you need to help me he's trying to kill me, please! How do I get out of here?"

"Come on dear let me bring you to see the doctor."

"NO!"

"Come on now..."

"NO! I DON'T WANT TO SEE THAT DISGUSTING DOCTOR HE'S EVIL!"

"Calm down."

"He wants to hurt me please..Can you call my mom?" Violet pleads lowering her tone, she clings onto the nurses uniform.

"Please have a seat and I'll get the doctor."

"NO!"

She's banging weak, angry fists against the nurse's chest but her knuckles are coming back wet, something slops onto the floor in front of her and she knows her bowel has fallen out again. The nurse is also bleeding heavily from the front but it's not Violet's blood on her.

"Yes, he hurt me too." the nurse drones, like she's said it a million times, gazes down lazily at her destroyed uniform.

When Violet looks up at the nurse's face she sees her eyes and mouth turn into gaping black holes that expand so big they devour the rest of her face, the nurse shakes, screeches a throaty gasp as her face turns to dry ash.

Violet staggers back, whimpering under shakey breaths. She turns around and scans the four walls desperate to find the exit. She locates a door behind a large cheese plant which is probably a closet, somewhere she can hide for a bit, somehere she can die. She rummages through the branches and finds the door knob.

"Violet..." Tate's voice sings from close behind her, she quickly slams the door behind her but he's already caught a hold of her trailing bowel.

It's stuck in the door.

He pulls, she pulls, he tugs, she tugs back hard from within, she feels herself ripping apart inside, she keeps pulling in agony. It's the only way to get away from him, she grabs it and lets go immediately because it's slippery and feels disgusting but she needs to, it's too thick to tear apart. She gets down on her knees and crazily starts to knaw on her own body tissue, it's salty and squishy she's tasting fully the the malodorous sap it secretes.

She keeps chewing, chewing, heaving and gagging, gagging, choking on the slivers of jelly flesh caught in her throat and teeth.

She's completely lost her mind.

She keeps knawing and swallowing, swallowing the blood, the vomit that rises to meet the thick gruel on it's way down. The slimy vessel rips off then, dragging frills of pink muscle and tissue out of her with it, she feels emptier, lighter, far from Tate, closer to death.

* * *

><p>When she finds herself in a cold, dark hallway, she stumbles forward desperate for the sight of an exit.<p>

The sudden echo of an eardrum piercing cry stops her in her bloody tracks.

She hopes it's not what she thinks she hears, hopes it hasn't followed her here having banished it from the realms of her psyche so long ago. It isn't her own but it's a cry she remembers too well, a sickening shriek so familiar and informing it makes her want to curl up and die in the puddle of blood beneath her.

She opens the door that conceals the noise, the repulsing confirmation that she has very much been here many times before and it's always the same. It's just as bad each time.

She's fifteen again, standing in the corridor behind the thick glass, her knuckles white and clenched as she watches her mother give birth to a dead baby.

Her mother screams and flails in agony, the ties of her biology gray her face a miserly shade of frailty and exhaustion. Violet was so sure her mom was going to die that day, she had prepared herself but now the mere image of her lips on her mother's frosty, coffin incased forehead brings another wave of nausea. It never gets easier.

She realises she's been visiting this scene for months inside her head. She stands frozen now in the doorway as she had done behind the glass.

There is always only silence, no newborn cries, no parental coos of joy. Inside the room her father's face is null, blank as the surrounding white walls.

As much as she hates to admit it in that moment she had never felt more like her father's daughter, an emotionless coward. She is no better than the doctors who sicken her with their false grimaces, their condolences mean jack shit correllated with her mother's wails of grief as they they pry it from her arms, wrap it's tiny ashen corpse up in a blanket and take it away forever.

She'd trade places with it if she could.

In that moment she felt jealousy towards it , but now the reflection comes only as a lurid dessert of guilt.

Guilt for denying her grieving mother a hug because she couldn't handle it, it was easier to pretend it didn't happen because she was afraid, afraid of the the little box of blades in her bedside drawer, what she might have to do if she dared to allow herself to feel something for her mother, for her dead baby brother.

Guilt - she knows it's not really about regret, but just another name for self-hatred.

She hears it cry, faintly - it's still alive. She knows it's impossible, but this is hell and it's all fun and games and as of now she has nothing to loose. It's a sliver of a chance for a dying absolution.

"Come back! give it back to her! My mom wants her baby!"

She watches a lady in scrubs cross the room carrying it's lifeless form through a door into another room. Violet steps forward, but an invisible force forbids her from entering the room, this hell house is fucking with her, it's payback for not wanting to go further than the glass, not wanting to hold her mother's hand, the invisible sheet of it now goads her, seperates her from her mother.

"MOM!" but Vivien can't hear her just like those other women couldn't.

Violet is once again aware she is bleeding although now used to the fact that she's never gong to die she ignores it and moves down the hall in the same direction of the baby stealer with the hopes of finding the right door.

When she does her face is almost immolated by the seering heat of an oven and the odor that is nothing other than burning flesh.

She sees boxes on the floor, soggy cardboard boxes filled with dead wrinkly foetuses some still attached to placentas and she can't tell which one is which, which one is her mom's. They're sloused in fouling amniotic fluid, they've been left to rot on top of each other.

There's a dark being who she can't see, he is without a face, amoral and callous. A demon with a merciless shovel, it flings heaps of their carcasses into the open furnace, their flesh sizzles and burns with a new concentrated waft of death. Violet gags, dry heaves a few times before she vomits orange and black drivel all over her blood stained feet.

"Has my wife booked you in for a procedure?" the sadistic doctor appears before her suddenly, his hands are gloved and sterilised he has them turned in towards his chest.

Screaming, she promptly slams the door in his face, she's back in the hall.

"Violet...stop running.." she hears him laughing in the distance from down the corridor, he is concealed by the darkness.

It's Tate, because what's hell without the devil?

She needs to hide, so she runs for the next nearest door shutting it behind her she leans against the wood closing her eyes.

She doesn't notice she isn't alone at first.

It's always the smells that get her first.

Stuffy, musky and unclean. The smell of persperation and stale underwear.

The sounds come next.

Muffled grunts and hisses, passionate noises.

It takes all the will power she has to open her eyes and a whole new hell unleashes itself when she does.

Her father stands with his back to her, his pale ass cheeks clench furiously as he penetrates inwards, as he moans in syncronisation with her, animalistically thrusting in and out of her. Her father's moans of ecstacy are most unnatural and offensive to her ears like nails on a chalkboard or teeth grinding on alumminium foil, she clasps her hands over them immediately she's screaming, falls to her knees still screaming, always screaming, unsure of where she's gotten the sudden capability, no doubt a generous loan from the simmering pot of guilt within her severed self.

The woman is not her mother but the woman whom he cheated with. Violet recognises her face but she doesn't hate it as much she hates Ben's.

Her father grunts in response to Hayden's sexual pleas like the disgusting pig he is. The same slick penis that half of her came out of sixteen years ago now enters and stretches Hayden's creamed orifice as she recieves halves of thousands of Violet's unconceived siblings. Violet watches stunned as he exits her with a wet sucking noise that loops over in Violet's mind an indeliable sound, like a mental stain. With every fuck he sends her way, she hears the sound of her mom's heart breaking, the baby inside her dies a thousand times over.

"STOP IT STOP IT!" Violet shouts but they are oblivious to her presence.

She's about to be sick again but her stomach fails miserably to scrape together enough vomit from it's desiccated interior lining. She wonders if she really is in hell and this is what it's like. A game of cat and mouse with a devil who carries a knife. The only place to run is room after room after room, rooms that show re-runs of your worst nightmares, the reality of each situation making it all the more horrific, tormenting you for a miserable eternity.

And he's always behind you chasing you, hunting you.

The truth was she'd rather be out there with him than in here watching this so she exits the same way she entered and of course he's standing there to greet her in the doorway, his head cocked to the side, face dressed with psychopathy. His eyes read _wanna play?_

"Found you."

She gives up there and then. Exhausted, she slumps forward he callously moves out of the way, let's her fall into a heap on the floor, her face mashes into the carpet, she's so close to dying she feels it, she welcomes it, welcomes whatever he has plans for her as long as it's quick.

His cruel rough grip has her by the ankles as he drags her down the hallway. Her loose stitches come fully undone. The freed flaps of her incison catch on the carpet and fold back, they burn in collision with the dusty threads and tear further, further up as he drags her along. He's whistling twisted nerve and she leaves a red slug trail behind her, coughing up and splutering blood clots onto the carpet.

Tate grabs a handful of her blonde hair pulling her up off the floor, she clutches her abdomen just before he slams her against the wall.

She shuts her eyes and begs for death.

"OPEN YOUR EYES!" Tate slaps her hard across the face with a sting that almost matches the pain in her abdomen.

"Please Tate.." she begs cowering against the wall.

"Were you not enjoying the view? Do you want to go back and see your Mom's dead baby? Or watch your dad lick his cum off that student's ass crack?"

"Who the fuck are you?" she mourns for the boy she met, he's not there anymore. A fresh suit of cold sweat varnishes her hair line.

"Bet you wish it was you that died in her uterus. Come on kill yourself, or better yet let me do it for you!"

His blade is suddenly cool across her windpipe.

"I thought, I thought we were friends.." she whimpers, he throws his head back and laughs loudly.

"Is that what you thought? God you're more stupid than I thought. It was so easy you know, getting you into this place, you followed me in like a pathetic puppy." he's shaking his head.

"What did you think? Did you think that I'd bring you in here and try to scare you a bit?"

"No!"

"Chase you out into the wild gardens?"

"Tate..."

"Deflower your virgin pussy under the cherry blossoms?"

"STOP!"

His face is dripping with ridicule.

He skims his nose along her cheek. Hungry for her blood, his fingers trace up her bloody shaking thigh, he places his hand over her own two which are keeping her abdomen hole shut. He's tugging on her fingers, tugging, tugging.

"NO!" she cries.

"Tate...please..." he's prying her arms away from her middle. When her tired muscles collapse, her arms drop from her abdomen and everything falls out onto their feet, all over her legs it's a liquid plop, visceral diarrhoea.

He shakes it off his foot laughing at her, she's all over the floor. He's stomping on her and laughing. He's laughing at the squelching and squishing noises she makes under the sole of his boot.

"Tut tut, messy girl. Look at the mess I've made of you and I didn't even have to stick it in you! You look worse than your father's whore. Ha!"

"..." she's sobbingm, shaking her head, pushing her hands against his chest, pushing him awaym, he disgusts her almost as much as she disgusts herself.

"I'd fuck you here, right now but you don't even have a cunt do you? He took it away and gave it to his wife. He neutered you like a dirty cat. That's true love Violet, you're never gonna have it so why don't you find the biggest razor blade you can and just fucking swallow it like a good girl..."

"Tate.."

"You know, even if you try to force it back up you'll die, one hole or another ripped up inside like a nasty hymen."

His words sting like acid in her wounds, she's empty, a vessel of skin and bone, she feels the last of her blood drain from her brain, it trickles down, down through the exit hole and onto the floor.

"Oh look you're almost dead. Are you scared?" He watches it drip licking his lips before bringing his eyes back up slowly.

Her response is a dying choke, a blood spatter on his cheek.

"Chin up, why so sad? Were you falling in love with me Violet?"

"No."

"Do you still love me now?"

"No."

She shakes her head violently, he doesn't like her answers so he cruelly jabs his fingers into her wound.

"AHHHH!" she screams, athough she didn't think she had it in her.

"SAY YES!" He screams in her face.

"Yes!" She nods, petrified, she's in so much pain, not long now, not long now she hopes.

"I can make the pain go away, do you want the pain to go away?" his devlish purr fills her ear offering the sweet release she craves.

"Yes.." she whimpers.

"Yes what?"

"Please!"

"What?"

"KILL ME PLEASE! JUST FUCKING KILL ME." she's begs, drinking her bloody tears.

He smiles, she hears his knife drop to the floor with a clank, she's confused.

She's suddenly waiting for him to tell her he's just kidding, that this is all a joke, that's how desperate she is. She'll be disappointed if it is though she wants to die.

He cradles her face lovingly as if it were possible to gently crush her skull. He presses his lips to her forehead before he moves his thumbs down, down her temples, her cheeks, down, they're on her neck now.

"N-" He murders her _no_ when he presses his thumbs firmly against her small wind pipe. Her eyes bulge in realisation, her hands clasp around his wrists digging her nails underneath the skin of his rock solid fingers as he chokes her to death. She twitches and jerks violently, slipping on the wood floor drenched in her own guts. Her involuntary movement only worsens the pressure he's inflicting upon her neck.

Pretty soon he's listening to her last somber choke it's more like a gasp though, her eyes roll white into the back of her head and a smile the size of the Mexican Gulf creeps onto his face.

"Here's you're heart." he's bending down and retrieving it off the floor, he roughly shoves it up the gaping mouth above her sex.

She chokes.

"Now you can die, in love with me."

He's given her what she wanted most, what she didn't have the balls to do herself.

He lets go and she slumps to the floor, free as a bird, dead.

* * *

><p>But he has a hold of her again. He wont let go of her, wont let her die, she pushes and pushes through the darkness away from him, pushes until her eyes snap open to warm sunlight, the taupe walls of her bedroom, her clean white ceiling and Tate...<p>

Tate. She's headfucked to the hilt having woken up from her nightmare, face to face with her tormentor but now he only has anxiety and worry on his comely face.

"Violet! Violet, it's me, calm down, you're safe...I promise..."

He's sitting on her bed with her shaking her shoulders lightly, his soft blonde curls are looking extra golden in the sun's rays that slip through her half closed blinds. It's just the way she likes it, just the way she likes him.

She's alive. She's at home. She's sitting bolt upright in her warm bed.

What just happened wasn't real, it was only a dream.

Unfortunately, the realisation that he wasn't going to hurt her came a bit too late for Tate was already experiencing the after-sting of Violet's hand shooting out landing an unexpected, aimless, half-conscious punch to his unsuspecting face.

"Shit... Violet, what the fuck?"

It's good to hear his voice this time because she knows she's safe and well.

* * *

><p><strong>well yeah, hi :)<strong> **Okay so that was my first attempt at writing horror.  
><strong>

**Can I just say I'm not against abortion or anything in case this chapter came off as a type of fictional anti-choice propaganda or something lol. I mean who in their right mind would go to Dr Montgomery for any kind of procedure? **

**Violet's mental anguish is gonna be a major part of this story as well as Tate's. I wanna go with the whole appearance vs. reality thing and explore the nature of psychosis. There will be more characters also, new friendships and lots of reckless behaviour, love, lust and heartbreak.  
><strong>

**The next chapter will be a follow up of the ending here, maybe he'll hit her back. ;) jk, Tate's gonna explain what happened to her and things will progress swiftly from there.  
><strong>

**Has anyone been watching the new Skins? ( UK version obviously) its ahh-mazing even though I'm probably too old to watch it now idgaf.  
><strong>

**Have a lovely day :)**


	7. Disorder

**Chapter 7 -Disorder -**

Violet's all eyes on Tate's silent stature, she's wondering how he'll react, maybe he'll hit her back, that'd be interesting. She didn't expect him to react normally because normal he wasn't. She's thinks they might be similar in a complicated way but he's just more radical. He wore his monsters on his sleeve, she keeps hers beneath her sleeves.

Truthfully, she was waiting for him to explode, wanted see if he was anything like her dream. Despite her life long secret struggle with nightmares, there was no way she could have conjured such an alarming image of him in her sleep, if she hadn't been receiving those kind of vibes from him, nothing like that Nostradamus bullshit but a more rational kind of oneirology she thinks. She'll ask her dad about it later if she's in the mood to talk to him and not pissed off by the sight of his adulterous face.

She likes those vibes though. Part of her wanted him to blow up because the crazy in him makes her insides spin like a tumble dryer. Maybe if he throttled her a bit she'd feel something for once. She wonders if his punch would be like his kiss, neither of which she's had yet. Violet always finds herself betwixed between fear and arousal when she's around him and all his little kinks and quirks. She's found herself a word for it; perturbed, thats how he makes her feel and she enjoys it. But had she just poked a cobra with a stick? If he doesn't react soon she'll have to apologise of course.

And he doesn't, not in the way she expects at first, after a short silence one side of his mouth eventually turns up into a half grin, clearly amused he's pressing a finger over his left nostril checking for blood. There is a mere trinkle nothing major he sniffs it back up still smiling like a chesire cat.

"You hit me." he says it as if he's impressed, like she's done him a kind favour. He is and she has, downstairs he feels it because he's twisted like that. It did hurt, mainly because it was unexpected. Shit's always more effective when you don't see it coming. Sometimes it's bad, sometimes it's bad but if feels good.

It had been more of a whack-type slap rather than a hardcore punch considering she was half asleep but she definitely had the potential to do some damage with that small fist. The thought of her hurting people excites him, but the excitement only then sickens him because he's seeing himself right now in her furious gaping brown eyes and he shouldn't like what he sees, but he does. I she was him but still her, he could probably accept the person he is.

It's a paraphilia, purely animalistic. She's a fighter. He's reminded of this when he looks at the healing gash on her forehead he still has to claim his revenge for, and now he'll see it in the delightful bruise he feels forming in the groove where his nose knits with his cheek. If he's going to let anyone maim his body he wants it to be her that does it. Maybe she'll be sated that no one in school will assume it was she who punched the big bad wolf in the face. He wont mind if she tells people, if she marks her territory. He'll wear her mark of abuse proudly just to throw society a biscuit of irony.

He's also worried though, worried by what could have scared her enough that she felt the need to hit him. Was it him or the house? He doesn't want her to fear him, he wants to inspire her to continue being fearless, he wants to protect her.

"What are you doing here?" when she's not so lost roaming his handsome face she's feeling intruded on, she barely let's her parents in her room and although he's not trying to kill her she's afraid there might be dirty underwear, her excessive collection of third-wave feminism articles, razor blades and other things she'd rather he not see.

"Is that your way of saying thanks?" he raises an eyebrow.

"Ehh.." She heats up suddenly, and sways dizzily, he's there to catch her though, he steadies her.

"Woah..." he's gently presses the backs of his two forefingers to her forehead. "I think you might have a fever..."

"I'm sorry I hit you, I didn't mean to, I just got a fright when I saw you there."

"I'm sorry I startled you and don't worry about it, you're not the first person to hit me. I kinda deserved that one I guess."

"You can hit me back if you want." she smiles.

"You're not on my list...sorry."

"You have a hit list?"

"Depends, what do you mean by hit?" he asks smiling.

Violet's honestly not sure if he's joking.

"And I'm definitely not on it?" she just wants to make sure considering the nightmare she just had, just for her own self amusement and of course a rational piece of mind.

"Don't ever be afraid of me." he shakes his head seriously.

"I'm not." it was half true.

"I would never hurt you Violet, ever."

But Violet's only half listening to him, she's remembering stuff from her dream, frantically shoving her hands up her shirt and running them over her abdomen, it's smooth, soft and unharmed, her belly button is in tact and she's still fertile. She almost laughs realising how wierd she's probably acting.

"Do you feel sick?" he asks confused, concerned.

"No I just...nevermind."

"Were you having a nightmare just now?" he asks guiltily, knowing too well how that place can fuck with your head, he's also worried a part of it might have gotten into her up there too. That would have been his fault.

"Tate what happened down there?" her questions are all coming out in the wrong order, that was the first thing she wanted to ask him, but she suddenly can't seem to form consistant streams of consciousness when she's around him. She believes it's called a crush.

"You slipped on a dead cat, sniffed some formaldehyde. I think it was the blood that freaked you out, you totally passed out in the basement. I caught you before you hit the ground but you were really out of it I practically had to carry you most of the way home."

"Shit I'm sorry."

"No I am. I shouldn't have brought you down there, I feel really shitty about it, I'm sorry I was acting creepy I was just trying to scare you, but I guess you managed that all by yourself..."

"Ha ha." she's throwing a cushion off her bed at him which he cathes and places in his lap.

"You didn't even get to see the actual house. I had my tour guide outfit on under my clothes and everything." he sighs dramatically.

"Cute."

"Yeah."

"You can show me the house again sometime."

"Eh, I don't think so."

She rolls her eyes, knowing all she has to do is ask him with a smile and he'll cave.

"Here take these I found them downstairs." He hands her two pain killers and the glass of water he had filled for her earlier. Violet swallows the pills and most of the water.

"Thanks."

She then notices she's wearing something different from what she put on this morning.

"Did you?" she feels a flush coming.

"Yeah, just your jeans, it was kind of hard considering you were out of it, but I managed okay."

"Yeah you did, thanks." her cheeks are red like a wild fire now.

He picks up that she's embarrassed and he's not going to be arrogant about it.

"I had to take them off so I could throw them in the trash. The cat blood was starting to smell and shit, I figured you'd want to dump them as soon as possible."

"Bet that was fun for you." she teases although she's probably the more embarrassed of the two.

"Not really, I kinda felt like I was doing something wrong, because you weren't awake I mean."

Her eyes widen half amused half creeped out.

"I didn't check you out or anything don't worry."

He hadn't.

Although he'd been tempted, but had forced himself not to. He wants the first time she shows herself to him to be on her terms. But that might never even happen, he doesn't even know if she likes him that way.

"I tried to clean you up as best as I could, your cut is minor but I disinfected them just in case any of that diseased cat got into it."

Violet rolls up the leg of material to inspect her knee. It's grazed with red scrapes, in some places the skin has been grated off to show a shiny red under layer, but it's mostly just a garden of forming bruises. She almost admires the gashes for a moment as if they were her own handy work.

"It matches your wrists." He comments thoughtfully.

Her stomach drops, not only has he seen her half naked but worse than that he's also seen the parts of her she's kept a secret for four years, just like that he has a part of her. He's going to judge her even if he doesn't say anything she thinks, so she drops her gaze to the bed.

"Violet, look at me." he smiles.

She looks up slowly her hair has fallen around her face. She watches him roll up his own sleeve as he exposes his own pallet of his own personal artwork. His are nothing but dozens of overlapping, faded silver lines, the ruins of past activities long forgotten. They mock her own and she feels childish all of a sudden, if he stopped a long time ago then she probably should have too.

"Can I?"

He nods.

He's silently watching her run her fingers over them.

"Why'd you stop?"

"Because it was pointless."

"Oh." her brow furrows.

"I'm not trying to patronise you Violet, it's not like I stopped totally, I always remember just being so angry at everyone. Hurting myself wasn't enough."

"You're not angry anymore?" she's making sure the conversation stays off her.

"Not lately...no." he smiles. He isn't, not since he met her.

"What time is it?"

"After two, you've been asleep for a couple of hours, you looked pretty jaded this morning, no offence."

"Are my parents here?"

"No they're not that's why I'm here." he smiles.

"You've been here the whole time?"

"Of course, like I was going to leave you alone when you were like that."

"You look tired too."

"I am."

"Thanks for ehhh saving me I guess." there was really no other way she could put it.

"It's fine, that's what friends are for right?" the phrase sounds stupid coming out of his of all people's mouths but she doesn't doubt his sincerity.

"Friends huh?" she presses.

He's actually pleased to see the expression of disappointment on her pretty face that follows.

It means he knows how she feels about him and he can ask her now.

"Violet?"

"mhmm?"

"Can I take you out again, for your birthday? I mean properly I wanna make it up to you. No creepy murder house, just you and me."

"tonight?"

"Well what time do you get back from your parents dinner thing at?"

"Around eight or nine I'd say, they'll want to leave once they start fighting. Or I can just pretend I don't feel well. That usually works."

"Okay when you get back and your ready call into my house and we'll go out."

"Yeah sure." she yawns involuntarily it's a good mask for her excitement.

"I'll get out of your way, try and sleep." he swabs her nose lightly with the tip of his finger before he stands up and heads towards her door.

"Are you going home to sleep too?"

"Yes."

"Good." Although she's tempted to ask him to sleep here beside her, she lets him go for now.

"Thanks again."

"Sleep tight Violet." she hears him before he closes the door.

Violet settles down pulling her covers up under her chin and falls asleep wearing the smile he's left on her face.

* * *

><p>Tate strides merrily across the Harmon's lawn hopping over the dividing hedge between their house and his. Despite the exceptional mood Violet's put him in he still basks in the pleasure of landing most conveniently on top of his mother's roses, they snap beneath the impact of his booted weight.<p>

He's barely in the door and Constance is already hollering at him to come into the kitchen, he does with a grave amount of reluctancy. The quicker he sees what the old wench wants the quicker he'll be upstairs behind his locked door away from her.

Tate's standing in the dining room doorway leaning against the wooden frame, arms folded.

Unfortunately, Larry's there too in his suit playing the part of the honest working man. He fixates a penetrating gaze on Larry who shifts uncomfortably, loosens his tie. The gash on the side of his scrawny face slaps a smile on Tate's face, proud of the mess he'd made of Larry's face last week.

They're all there sitting at the table having lunch the cocksucker, the cock and his sister Addie, it's all fake he's surprised the food is real. Although he does return a warm smile to the cheeky grin his sister sends his way.

When he catches Constance beadily eyeing him through the smokey haze of her exhale his face turns to alabaster, hiding all traces of his good mood, he can already feel her sucking it out of him.

"Sit down and eat something Tate."

"I'm not hungry." the sight of his mother and Larry is usually enough to kill his appetite.

"Tate, you havn't been eating at all lately what the hell is going on? And don't think I didn't hear you sneak out this morning at the crack of dawn, my god if I find out you're into snorting that crap again you've got another thing coming to you."

"Pleeease Tate, I havn't seen you all day!" it's Addie's pouting request this time. He forgot she was there for a moment and she's right he had been ignoring her a bit recently which was unusual for them as he ususally got on with his sister really well but lately his head has been swimming with all things Violet.

Sighing he walks over pulling out a chair. He figures Addie was still shook up about his most recent performance.

They had been alone in the house together when he completely lost it, it had been a while since he'd had an episode that bad. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt his sister so he had fled into the bathroom, had asked Addie to lock the door behind him when he felt it coming out to play.

He knew she had stood on the other side of the door listening to him smash every tile on the walls and floor. When Constance arrived home she had found Addie sitting on the stairs hugging her knees, sobbing uncontrolably before she found her son lying unconscious on the bathroom floor his face and knuckles torn and covered in his own blood, lying amongst a flood of toilet water, the length of steel piping he had ripped off from beneath the toilet cistern was on the floor beside him.

As Tate pours himself a glass of water he's smiling because everyone at the table is horrifically reminded of him smashing a full glass jug over Larry's head last week. While they watch him with silent discomfort he uses the time to remind himself of how soft Violet's slender, pale thighs had felt in his hands, he's already yearning for the day he'll get to take off what's underneath her jeans too.

"Well I have to say it's been a while Tate how are you doing?" comes Larry's attempt at licking his ass, the man's chewing through a mouthful of chicken dragging Tate's thoughts out from between Violet's legs.

"Extremely well Lawrence and yourself?" he sees the man's terrified, Tate's content with the amount of fear he's instilled in him he'd been torturing him in different ways here and there for the past six months. Although the man was willing to stay and endure, entranced by his mother's evil sorcery, too stupid to realise she didn't even love him. Then again Tate's had seventeen years experience of Constance's lack of love for anyone but herself.

"Very busy Tate, work's been hectic."

"It's all those damn wet backs and chinks sucking the life out of this country you know." Constance sneers. "I see them all the time downtown begging on the sidewalk, fat welfare checks in their theiving pockets living off the honest tax payers money, it's disgusting. They outta be sent back where they came form and those devlish democrats can go too."

"Yes Constance I see a lot of their kind stop by, they're the most difficult to deal with."

"Really? I thought you enjoyed ripping off the poor." Tate chimes forking through a bed of egg salad.

"Now Tate you watch your mouth, everyone's entitled to their opinion but I'll have none of that marxist tripe you kids these days are into at this table. Larry's a man of his country."

"It's alright Constance." Larry pats her arm.

"Im not finished," she sneers. "Tate, Dr. Miller called today said you broke into his house recently."

"Really? Funny I don't remember." he shrugs chewing on his lunch.

"For heaven's sake what did you do with the man's cat Tate?"

Tate catches his sister gaping at him so he makes a funny face sticks his tongue out revealing a mouth of food.

"Gross" she giggles and he winks at her closing his mouth again.

"God damnit Tate! Are you listening to me?" Constance slams a fist down onto the glass of the table. There's veins bulging out from her forehead through the many layers of caked make up.

"That cat was miserable I did it a favour...Therapist is made of two words for a reason."

"Christ! Why can't you just be normal? How much longer is this going to go on Tate how many more therapists? How much more of our savings am I going to have to spend before you decide to take some responsibility for your sins? I don't think you want to get better." she spews the tendons in her throat are moving like strings of stress.

"Constance darling calm down. Tate your mother's just worried about you." Larry rubs her shoulder.

"No I don't think she is Lawrence."

"God give me strength..." Constance takes a deep breath, shakily lighting another cigarette, Tate rolls his eyes. "Tate," she begins slowly, "I want you to make sure you're here tonight."

"Why?"

"Dr Harmon next door has agreed to see you when he returns from a meal with his family this evening, I'd like for you to go and see him. He's a Harvard graduate Tate he's had a lot of experience working closely with young people in Boston. I think he could really help you."

Tate wants to butt in and tell her just how close Dr. Harmon works with young people, how he cheated on his wife with a barely legal student and ripped his daughter's heart into a million pieces.

But he wont tell his mom about dirty old Dr. Harmon because Violet told him that in confidence and the cocksucker is the last person he's going to give away Violet's secrets too. Despite the satisfaction it would give him knowing he's won this one over his mother again Violet's more important than the self centered beast within him.

He feels himself clench his fists, the table rattles with the impact of his shaking leg he tries to supress the rage he feels. If he ever finds himself alone with Dr. Harmon he's sure he'd kill him.

"No I'm busy."

"What do you mean you're busy you ungreatful little swine! You've been out all day. Where where you then?"

"He was with -" Addie goes to fill Constance in but Tate stops her, taps her on the shin from under the table with his shoes he shakes his head twice commanding her not to. She's unaware his mother had no knowledge of his friendship with Dr. Harmon's daughter let alone the fact he's going on a date with her tonight. He wont have her soil his happiness with her vindictive prying.

"What did you say Adelaide?" Constance squawks.

"Nothing." she says in a small voice. When Addie looks up again Tate mouths a 'thank you' and smiles, she smiles back shyly.

"Child, do not lie to me! You may look stupid on the outside but I know damn well your as much an ugly mosnter as your brother here."

Constance almost falls backwards off her chair when Tate hurls a wine glass at her face, she moves just in time and it smashes to smithereens against the cream wall behind her.

"Don't ever, ever speak to her like that again! I swear mom I will hurt you so bad you'll really fucking regret all the pain you caused, what you did to me. Don't think I fucking don't remember what you did you sick bitch!" he's up out of his chair threathening his mother with a virulent biting tone.

"Get the fuck out of my sight." she spits, she's angry but mostly guilty the guilt doesn't eat her enough and that's what angers him and leave he does. His chair squeaks roughly against the linoleum as he storms out of the dining room.

Soon enough he's sitting at his desk with shaking hands struggling to cut a line with an old library card. He hasn't done coke six weeks. Once he sniffs it up into his nose he snorts multiple times and pinches the bridge of his nose rubbing, snorting, getting it right into the back of his throat so it will take effect. The numb it leaves throughout his nasal passage tingles more than it usually should having gone cold turkey for so long, so long it feels like the first time all over again. He's caved and it's the beginning of a familiar cycle, only now he has to fit Violet in there somewhere, somewhere safe.

He lies down on his bedroom floor and watches the light follicles from the bulb overhead swirl and glow. When his head starts to feel empty and he feels like he's rising off the floor he lies there limp as thoughts of Violet fill him up with a sweet sedation.

* * *

><p><strong>AN heyho :) Violet and Tate are going on a normal date yayyy. I already have it written.**

**Tate's really one freaky bunny, it's hard to imagine what goes on inside his head. I'd imagine it sounds a bit like System of a Down's song Toxicity. Talk about disorderrrrr.**


	8. Blur

**Chapter 8 - Blur -**

From behind the curtain of the second story window on the landing he watches her get out of her parent's car. He's standing where he has been standing on several occasions for the past two weeks, watching, waiting to catch a glimpse of her leaving for and returning home from school, one arm resting across his chest, cupping the other's elbow, rabbiting on the nub of his thumb in sheer contemplation, like she's an allegory on a chalk board.

She has just returned from a birthday dinner with her parents. Violet had made it clear to Tate earlier this afternoon that she would have preffered not to attend such a chirade but he figured she just didn't quite know how to say no, their authority still mattered to her. She thinks if she keeps them happy they wont fight, her family hasn't been fucked up long enough for her to realise she isn't the problem.

He makes a mental note to himself to teach Violet how to become the ultimate puppetier, teach her how to control her parents, play them against each other so they can't take advantage of her like that, if she wants.

For the most part, he thinks she looks beautiful but it's all wrong. It's like someone has tried to put a saddle on a wild horse. He smiles.

Her usual lengthy, drip dry locks are not free to swish in which ever way they please because her hair has been tied back in a neat bun. She's wearing a dress above pale tightless knees, it's a bold aqua blue, a colour he's never seen her in before and is willing to admit that it suits her a lot, like white sand melting against a blue tide, it kisses her pale skin in the way the sun does not.

He knows that she wouldn't appreciate him telling her that, at least on the surface it would appear that way, until her blush betrays her. He's going to tell her anyway just perhaps with less words, so he doesn't creep her out. People like her deserve to be sanctified even if they don't realise it.

This dress abandoned all aspects of her preferred, loose fitted attire. It had shape, had order in complimentary places, there was nowhere for her to hide in it. With all her layers stripped back it was the second time he was seeing her hips, as he recalls undressing her this afternoon fondly. But now, for the first time he was seeing her waist and the outline of her breasts properly, he was almost afraid to blink in case she would disappear.

Her body shape was subtle. While not yet a grown woman's body she was far from a girl underneath those deceitful pre-teen, flroal dresses. His dick agrees of course, they always did, it's his brain that's disobedient. Despite his immense disregard for and delocalisation from his peers, aside from every chemical unbalance in his head, he's just any average teenage boy with a raging heart and a boner for the girl next door.

He's wondering if she's ever felt the knead of a male hand on her skin, rougher than her own palm, her own fingers. It's not the first time he's thought about her in a sexual way. She barely left his head these days, his hand rarely left his trousers.

These are just thoughts. His thoughts.

The dress and hairdo were her mom's idea. He knows this because she would do anything to keep her parents happy. Again, it angers him that she still puts them before herself after everything they've put her through and it's because she's a nice person.

Right now she had only an open checkered shirt, and her Converse, the only thing Violet about the look that made it all the more appealing. She's walking briskly towards her house and he can't see her close enough to tell what kind of mood she's in.

Secretly he's thanking her mom, only for relieving him of his curiousity. While his eyes have temporarily been sated his hands and other bodily parts are starting to get curious, he pretends not to notice how the monster in him parades around too.

He does feel guilty though, that she isn't as happy as observing her makes him. He wonders if she thinks about him when she's bored, when she's touching herself, how many fingers does she use? He's betting she's the: quiet as a mouse, pants on at the expense of a cramp in the wrist lock your door keep one foot on the floor type, because being caught masterbating would probably mortify her, she will not admit she's a passionate person.

These days, days, minutes, minutes, seconds he's never noticed time before, not really, but he does now he longs for it, he's waiting for her to knock on his door.

She does, ten minutes later.

And when he opens it to her he's surprised to see she hasn't changed into her real clothes, she's still wearing the blue dress except she's let her hair down and it's soft, it has a kink from the stress of the bun. She's barefaced as always, radiant. Now he's irked somewhat having only just managed to get his dick to lie back down.

"Did I do that?"

It's funny to him because she's not talking about his erection, she's stepping forward and gently touching the small poppy bruise on his cheek, there's a sparkle in her eye and tone, a mixture of pride and apology. His eyes flutter closed beneath the touch of her soft fingers.

"Don't worry about it, it matches your eyes. We'll do something similar for prom. You ready to go?" he smiles and she nods laughing.

He closes the front door leaving this afternoon's bullshit firmly behind it, she is everything good in his world now.

* * *

><p>"How was dinner with your parents?" he asks when they're waiting for a bus. She's smoking and he's twiddling his thumbs, the small amount of space between them doesn't go unnnoticed, at least not to him, she seems vacant though, her eyes are chasing cars.<p>

"I did something bad." she sighs, it's a frustrated exhale.

"Bad as in _me_ bad?" he smiles.

"I stabbed my dad in the back of the hand with my dessert fork."

Tate remains silent, it's only when Violet turns to look at him she sees he's trying to surpress a mounting eruption of laughter.

"It's not funny Tate! He has to get stitches...!"

"I think it's funny, hilarious actually. I wish I was there to see."

He doesn't really think it's hilarious, at least not as much as it rouses his insides at the thought of the girl of his affection running around hurting people like a miniture him.

"Yeah watch him diagnose me as a schizoid instead of asking me why I did it." she mutters.

He figures the humour in her tone is more out of disbelief and regret though rather than satisfaction, she isn't rotton to the core like him, not really, she's just angry.

"Fuck him, he diserved that if you ask me. I'd rather you hurt him than you know..hurt yourself. He deserves it you don't." he eyes her intently.

It's true. He really doesn't give a fuck who she hurts as long as it's not herself she's hurting, if she wants to pry her dad's finger nails off he'll be the one holding down Dr. Harmon's arm for her.

"I just fucking hate him you know," she fumes "...and then he's talking and making plans as if we're all happy and then he asks me to pass the fucking salt and I just snapped-" she kicks a pebble off the curb with the rubber of her sole.

"I almost cut my mother's face open with a wine glass today, the bitch moved just in time. I almost cried. Not because of what I did but because I missed her face by less than an inch. I got her boyfriend with a crystal jug last week so she can just consider herself warned."

She's exhaling a stream of smoke, shaking her head smiling because the look of disappointment on his face is a hundered and ten percent genuine.

"Man with the stitches down his face, kinda looks like a pedophile?" she turns to look at him amused.

"Yep that's Lawrence, he likes to call me son."

"Okay you win."

"You could have won..." he presses "-if you then dumped the salt onto his hand, asked him if he's had enough or if he'd like some more because you've sure had enough. Ask him if he likes how it feels. That's what I would have done. There would have been people there too right? An audience, perfect. Fucking hell Violet you have so much to learn about being an asshole..." he sighs dreamily.

She closes one eye and squints at him.

"Round two?" she asks with a sideways smirk.

"Sure. You're gonna loose though Violet." he beams.

"We'll see." she hmmps.

"So... Do you wanna go any place particular birthday girl?"

"I guess we could just wander around."

"I know a beach, its a quiet one, desolate practically."

"You planning on copping a feel again?" They've dropped this whole thing but she brings it up anyway because it makes him go quiet.

"Yeah I'm gonna rape you in the lifeguard shack." he's leaning casually against the wall.

"Cosy. Just don't rip my tights." she flicks off a head of ash but her smile is there and so is his.

* * *

><p>When they arrive downtown it's still warm but it's late in the evening and Violet is content with the milder temperature. She's not flustered like she is during the day, she can breathe and shit isn't bothering her because he's there and he makes her laugh.<p>

As they wander like they planned, they visit a record store and casually flick through stuff from opposite sides of the center record stand. They make fun of camp eighties glam metal bands and somehow end up playing a mildly offensive game of_ hey this guy looks like you._ They discuss music, the significance of sub genres, Hole or Nirvana, they argue mostly until someone gets pissy then they drop the subject, agree to disagree.

It's when they sneek into some pompous Brent Bolthouse private event via the back door, just for the free booze and crackers rather than the fashion and social climbing, that's when a situation unfolds itself.

It happens amidst the clinks of glasses and drones of talk and flash of bulbs, Tate's standing in the corner eyeing the fashion editors and celebrities wondering why he hasn't been thrown out yet, when he's waiting patiently for Violet to use the facilities before they leave.

"You! You little son of a bitch!"

Tate freezes when he hears that which is no other than the voice of his ex-therapist .

"What did you do to my Coco?" his wife sneers from beneath her expensive attire her voice is a hushed whisper so as not to make a scene in front of everyone.

"I don't know check your coat." he says sarcastically, she rolls her eyes and pulls her fur coat tighter around her slender frame.

"Don't bullshit me Tate, I'm not your therapist anymore, you don't get a choice this time, talk now, explain."

"I'm sorry I don't know what you're talking about you must be mistaken." he can't not grin but he keeps his expression falsely confused.

"Holy shit. Tate I think I just saw Anna Wintour." Violet appears at his side suddenly, when she notices they have company her eyes flick from person to person. "What's going on?"

"Your little boyfriend here kidnapped our cat!"

"What the fuck? Why would he take your cat?" Violet folds her arms defensively, both amused and confused.

But Tate's already spotted security guards approaching them and is grabbing Violet's hand and pulling her behind him as he starts to run towards an exit. They crash into people on their way out but once the sunshine hits his face he slows his and Violet's pace the crowd is black with people so running would draw more attenion than walking. A block or so away they stop at a street corner facing an empty alley way.

"Tate.. what... the hell?" she pants running a hand through her wind swept hair. She's going to hate him now, she's going to ask him if that was the remains of the critter she slipped on in the murder house.

"Violet I-" he's shaking his head waiting for an explanation to fall onto his tongue.

"Come on Tate seriously, I mean how am I supposed to beat you at being an asshole, when you're already stealing random rich people's pets." she smiles, it's a joke.

He grins because she either doesn't remember or doesn't care about what he might have done, then again he is the only one who knows Coco the cat was more than just victim of kidnapping...

"Hey, look what I stole from that party..." she's pulling a bottle of rum out of her shoulder bag and if it were possible his grin grows wider.

"I really fucking like you do you know that?" he smiles shaking his head and she tries not to blush. They're sitting on the curb and he's watching her open the bottle of brown liquor. She is first to drink and it burns like a motherfucker on the way down but she hides it best as she can.

He raises an eyebrow at her.

"This tastes like nail polish." she scrunches up her face.

They sit and take counter swigs nonetheless. When a silent eructation suddenly escapes her lips she giggles and he gets the sudden urge to capture them against his, but lets it pass when she decides to say something.

"I'm glad I met you Tate." she leans in suddenly and kisses him on the cheek, it's harmless but he's taken back, she then places her world weary head against the large chip on his shoulder.

Smiling, while his fingers weave with hers, his chin finds a resting place on the center split of her hairline.

* * *

><p>They finish the bottle in no time and end up wandering the boulevard, aimlessly like lost kids. Its getting dark and there's traffic and people but the lights are all a blur and the people a mild buzz, they're in their own world and everything is background noise. Violet feels as if her head is expanding and Tate's wondering if he's drunk onrum or drunk on Violet because he's happy for once and he can't stop smiling.<p>

Violet's sweater has fallen down off her bare shoulders, she's walking with a sloppy clomp to her step trying to land in the center of the concrete sidewalk blocks. She's trying not to stand on the lines that connect them but she's drunkenly stepping too far forward onto each block which ruins her chances of reaching the next center sufficiently. Tate eyes her footing conspicuously, her lace is open she looks like a wounded pony with golden hair. He's picked up on her flawed technique but doesn't say anything because he's pleased to just watch her mess around like a little kid in a strange place.

They end up after some while in a park lying side by side in the the centre of a merry-go-round thing and Tate has one foot on the ground pushing in the opposite direction he's spinning them around and around and around and they can't stop giggling and the wind feels good.

The blue night sky is a mess, its dotted with stars but they're all blurred together and the sky is rotating and Violet thinks it looks like when you ferciously mix drink it swirls and fizzles. They don't know why, but they're both laughing again they're interwined fingers may as well be glued together. Tate's still spinning them although less frequently and Violet can feel the contents of her stomach sliding up and down her oesophagus but she ignores it because its her birthday and her hand is warm and snug inside his and she's not alone for once.

They both clamber off in dizzy directions when they've had enough. Violet finds herself drifting further and further away from Tate, her hand is lonely but her feet have other ideas and suddenly her throat is burning and she's trying to swallow but its not going down and she can't stand up straight, her head doesn't feel right.

When she's clambering towards a random barrel shaped compartment that she thinks might be a trash can because its dark, he's over to her in an instant, holding her hair back, one hand on her back rubbing, soothing in gentle vertical motions and when she's finished they both snigger at the fact that she just vomited rum and icecream into one of the teacups.

It doesn't last long though.

Pretty soon, almost immediately, her throat becomes sore again, a different kind of sore. There's a fat lump lodged down there again, her mouth is dry and her tounge tastes acidic. She doesn't think it's funny anymore because she's the one who puked and she's not used to being this emotionally sloppy. She feels it, it's coming, the seal is broken.

Violet's crying now because she's embarrassed, cold, confused, she doesn't know what time it is and she doesn't want to go home because her dad's there and she stabbed him in the hand because he cheated on her mom.

She wants him to wrap his arms around her but he doesn't, he doesn't notice. It's his fault because he spun her too much except it's not really his fault, but she's flailing inside her own head and she wants to vent, she never does but she's in a foreign state of mind.

He's still laughing about the fucking teacup, he still doesn't notice.

She looks at him through her salty blur until he does and he understands then, closes the distance between them. They stand as one and he holds her tightly, they should be crocodile tears on his sweater, but she's Violet, and he knows they're real.

"It's fine." he murmurs into her hair, soothing her. He tells her not to worry about shit.

He knows what she needs so he brings her to a convenient store and sits her on the curb outside, she's alone for a minute with the mild traffic, the dense churp of cickets in a nearly field. The post vomit chill she should be feeling is barely there now, she's inside his sweater and its warm and it smells like him.

When he returns he sits down beside her, hands her a bottle of cold water, she gulps the best part of it down, rinses and spits while he rubs her back again because she lets him and he likes doing it.

"I want to go home Tate."

"Okay."

* * *

><p>The station is somewhat lively even though most of the coffee shops are closed. While Tate goes to use the toilet Violet finds an empty bench to sit on, lifts her feet up, reaches her legs down the length of wood. When Tate returns she retracts her legs but he catches Violet by the ankles and places them neatly in his lap messaging the the bone with his thumb.<p>

"So did you have fun today?" Tate turns to look at Violet who's already eyeing him intently.

"kinda."

"What was the worst part?" he squints.

"Dinner with my parents, dead cat, this dress, also vomiting."

Tate stiffles a laugh, toying with the lace of her boot.

"Violet?" he's fingering a ladder in her tights.

"Yeah?"

"You look really beautiful tonight, well you always do but, I've never told you before."

"Thanks...?"

"Sure." he says quietly vacantly spying on commuters in the distance.

"Violet?"

"mhmm?" her eyes are closed focusing on his fingers on her leg.

"What was your favourite part of today?"

"I don't know. It hasn't happened yet."

"Oh I see."

"Yeah..." she sinks her enamel into her bottom lip, her eyes are closed again.

Tate sighs looking away from her. Slowly, he trails the length of her lacy tights his fingers claiming a firm grip on her calves, he squeezes them affectionately. It tickles so she jerks her leg back but he keeps a hold of it, they play tug and pull for a bit but he wins eventually.

"What else would you like to do?" he presses, looking at her now all wild eyes and dimples, she meets his stare dressed with something a little short of wanton.

"A birthday kiss would be nice."

"Yeah just a sec." Tate interupts her looking over his shoulder at nothing pretending to be half listening.

She kicks him in the thigh, "asshole."

"Okay."

Slowly, he begins to pull at her legs, reeling their small length in like a rope, his hands are moving further up with each tug. She's half laughing, covering her eyes with an awkward forearm, yet not really giving a shit that her dress is riding up past her hips.

She slides, slides across to his end of the bench and up onto his waiting lap in one swift motion. Satisfied with his conquest he's slinking a hand in between her thighs, he pushes them apart slowly, she moves the rest of the way so that she's stradling him somewhat on her knees. He leans back to look at her with dark eyes.

"Comfortable?"

"Yeah." she's a throathy whisper and he's warm dimples. She brings a hand up to run her finger along his somber cheek all negative inhibitions she's ever had about him forgotten. She's silent, but her eyes are liquid copper and they're glistening with expectation.

It's no more than a peck at first.

A stroke of lips, a virile experiment. There's more weight than just lips though because when he pulls back it's feels like he's miles away from her even though there's barely an inch between their faces. Her brow creases with confusion. He doesn't know what she wants from him, not really, he knows only what he wants and he's never considered anyone else. He wants her, but he's hesitant she'll pull away if he continues. She knows what she wants though.

"I said I want a kiss Tate." he feels her warm breath on his lips.

She's confidently feeding off his uncertainty, the wilderness in his near black eyes, she's running her fingers through his blonde curls, eyes scanning his face, tightning her grip she pulls his mouth back onto hers with little effort.

His hands slink up inside his sweater and pull on her hips the material of her dress lacey beneath his fingertips, he keeps tugging but she's playing too and eventually she flops down onto his lap giggling onto his mouth with the strain he's putting in her legs.

The press of his erection through their combined layers is unexpected, angry under her thighs. She presses her forehead against his, brown eyes are wide in exasperation.

He wants her to feel it, feel how much he adores her, wants to kill any doubts she might have about herself. His tongue wants to feel hers, but it's hiding inside her mouth. He also wants to swallow all the pretty sounds falling off her lips so he ventures forward with his mouth, pulling her hips forward too. Violet's making throaty noises against his mouth as he licks her lips parting them ever so increasingly.

When he's inside her mouth, it's hot and wet and he groans. She lulls a sigh, he tightens his grip on her flesh.

His dick is still there, eager as his tongue and she can't decide which intrusion she's enjoying more. Her moan of confliction he relishes silent with another wet suck from inside.

She wonders if she's still drunk, because she's just mounted him in the middle of a bus depot, and it feels beyond intense because this has been long overdue. Welding into his lap further, her knees hit the vertical part of the bench. The graze there stings upon the impact but she doesn't really feel it, she feels him instead, feels his hands. He runs his fingers down her thighs and cups her knee caps, they're teeth knock a bit but she's on a mission to lick his tonsils, his own wet muscle meets hers again, steadies and seduces her, pushing them both back into her own mouth.

Contrary commuters move, people tut and grunt the same way they do when they see a woman breast feeding. His tongue is too far down her throat at this stage for either one to give two.

It finishes how it starts a third before a second before a final press of ginger, airy lips. She lifts her legs to sit cross legged on his lap, she folds up nicely against his chest like she was made to fit there, lays a flushed cheek against his hard shoulder.

She starts to notice then the other people staring at them, so she turns her face inwards, she's looking at the material of his sweater up close instead, secluded from wandering eyes. His hands find the small of her back and hold her there.

"I've wanted to do that all all day." he confesses into her hair nuzzling with his nose.

"I know right." she breathes.

His mouth steals her neck on sly occasions the whole ride home like when she turns to look out the window.

They're kissing again on her porch a little after one in the morning snickering at the end of date traditional stance they're in. He keeps a hold of her waist, barely gives her a moment to find her keys because he knows he'll have to leave her when she locates them and one more kiss just isn't enough.

"Shit I lost my keys, this stupid dress with shitty fucking pockets!"

"Shhh you'll wake your dad." he's smiling pressing a finger to her lips.

"I'm gonna have to now. They're gonna interrogate me. I wish I could stay with you." she lokks up at him dotingly through her lashes, fiddling with the front of his shirt.

"There's loads of time for that." he assures her, cupping her face gently with both hands he kisses her on the lips, she jerks her head when he catches her blushing, she turns to bang on her door instead.

He didn't really know if she meant to hang out all night or sleep but as his hormones rage the thought of her in his bed even fully clothed and ready to go skiing would probably be too much for him to process.

"Hey, I'll see you in school on Monday."

"Really your coming back?" she smiles with bright eyes.

"Yep. Principal Roberts called today, clearly they're missing me a lot. I make good grades." He shrugs.

"Here you better take this..." She's shrugging out of his sweater, "I don't want to play twenty questions with my mom."

He gets to see her small chest again briefly before they hear footsteps descending the stairs from the inside. Tate steps away from her after a brief peck hiding in the shadows beside the door. If the porch light comes on it could be a problem.

"Violet? Where the hell were you?" Ben appears in the doorway before his daughter fuming in his maroon dressing gown.

Although he can't see him, it's the second time Tate's hearing Dr. Harmon's voice. It makes his arms and jaw clench, although he's more relaxed because she's near and he didn't think she'd appreciate him breaking her father's nose, he'd leave that to her.

"Working the streets of Santa Monica... I was just out with friends." Violet's trying not to grin at Tate in the shadows.

"You have friends?" It's her mom's voice this time, she's clapping her hands and squeeing.

"Yes! why is that so hard to believe?" Violet looks mortified.

"You should have called or left a note, Violet!" her dad continues to berate her.

If Tate's going to keep to himself that asshole is going to have to lower his voice soon.

"You know I stop listening when you start shouting dad." Violet pushes by him leaving Tate alone on the porch.

"I'm not shouting, you should have told us where you were." Ben closes the door.

"I know I'm sorry I forgot, geez." she's inside now and he hears her dad still yapping at her from the inside.

For a moment he almost envies how much the bastard cares about her, but he doesn't, because he'd rather she have that than him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN About this being a normal date, yeah I lied I dunno what normal is...  
><strong>

**Return of the phantom cat! DUN DUN DUN. heheh Kudos to you all who were wondering about the cat thing I think it could be my thing what dy'a think? move over Violet.. Tate/cat fetish FTW! XD**

**I kind of rushed this because I wanted to upload, I know I said I had it written last week and I did. The reason it takes me a while to upload is because I literally edit stuff and change my mind like fifty odd times and even still I'm never too happy with stuff. I get really paranoid and also I've had a banging headache all week which made the laptop screen unbearable...**

**I signed up for the ahs fic exchange! Apparently there's about 18 writers which is awesome! I look forward to working with you all :) I made an LJ thing although I probably wont use it that much because I dont understand how to use it. My name is _lepacemaker_.**

**Also, this isn't really a happy story although it may seem that way sometimes. Don't get too comfortable is what I mean ;) This story will have more twists than twirly pasta...  
><strong>


	9. Sappy

**Chapter 9 - Sappy -**

When Violet spots Tate at school it's a little before first bell. Violet's at her locker, headphones blaring, retrieving the necessary books for this morning's classes. Although he's not on his own when he enters the south entrance, she notices that he attracts enough pairs of eyes who pretend to be doing anything but staring.

She wonders if this is a habitual reaction, then remembers he hasn't been here because he was suspended for doing something Tate-ish, something she still has to ask him about but will probably find out through involuntary eavesdropping. She hasn't seen him since their drunken fondle fest this weekend, if that's what is was because she only remembers being drunk and vomiting and losing her keys and of course his hand, his tongue.

She cannot hear the other students through the moody guitar riff that's tickling her tragi but she presumes the usual repetative, conversational buzz of her peers, something she's never a part of, now has silent alterations, nervous throat clearing and whispers.

It's too much like one of those bullshit moments in teen movies when a potential badass is sifting through the corridor and everyone stops to stare. She swallows a mild scoff. He doesn't seem to notice, or else he does and he likes the attention. He's cheerily striding alongside Constance like he's won student of the year, her heels click against the floor mimicing the cant of a frustrated mare, both are heading towards Principal Robinson's office, obviously to engage in some kind of formal compromise that will allow Tate to return to classes.

She ignores her nonexistant friends, hugs her folder tighter and leans her head back against 904D's cheap metal door and watches him.

When he does notice her she holds her stare, holds back her smile but he can see the corners forming and he gives her a simpered two finger salute.

Then he's gone and she knows she probably looks like she's been out catching butterflies in the greenest parts of Nepal. They congregate in her stomach.

* * *

><p>"Now Tate, I assume you understand the implications of your offense?"<p>

"..."

Already Tate's regretting taking a hit this morning. He knows substitution is a less than ideal way to wean himself off his prescribed medication. It's the only way he can stay him, because his inherent paranoia regarding doctors trying to hurt him is just too strong. It's his own fine art of self control that he thrives on. He has learned over time to control his body and give off the sense of mild sedation as expected of the drugs he's supposed to be taking despite having not taken them.

His mind is still subject to stimulation though, asute and alert as ever. With an appetite like his sometimes it's just better to let his will succumb and not the other way around.

He feels secure knowing his mind is free to reach it's potential. At the expense of side effects this gives him more of an edge than anything his doctors have given him. He's unpredicatble when he's like this, but they're all his thoughts, all his actions. No matter how destructive, the human mind is adapted to self presevance above all and he's only got himself to trust in this world so he can't afford not to simply just go with the flow.

He's been tripping balls since he left the house not that Constance would of noticed and thank fuck for that. He ensured the whole ride here to keep his eyes on the dashboard and not dare to gaze out the window, just to deter from any possible means of hallucinogenic inspiration. That doesn't stop him here though because he knows better things await him outside this office.

She's out there somewhere and it's enough to get him on the borderline of sobriety but close enough to fall over the edge into a drug induced lust of giddiness.

"Tate? Are you listening?" Principal Robinson's voice drags Tate's gaze from the window, away from wondering where Violet is now how pretty she looked this morning and what she's doing, she's probably in class.

"I guess yeah." He pulls on his sleeve and slouches slightly.

Tate certainly doesn't see it that way but he knows he needs to cooperate, it's different now. He can't get sent back home not when she's here, he needs to be there for her, he has a reason to stay in school. His pride is the only thing keeping him from her right now, keeping him in this office with two of his least favourite people in the world. Although compared to his mother, his feelings towards Principal Robinson are no more than distant indifference.

"You don't think what you did was wrong?"

"It's not like I hurt anyone." he deadpans, although he doesn't quite know the meaning of the word hurt when it comes to other people. His mom scoffs at thisand he hates how much she knows him.

"You do understand weapons are not suitable material for show and tell purposes?"

"It wasn't even loaded."

"It doesn't matter, Tate you've instilled a lot of fear in the students here, there has been a lot anxious phone calls from parents-"

"Good." he smirks sitting back.

"How so?" Robinson is shaking his head, somewhat annoyed.

"I got a reaction out of them that's all I wanted. Sometimes a shepherd just needs a sheep dog you know?" He knows it's the drugs flavouring his speech but his point will be made.

"I don't understand."

Principal Robinson is addressing him directly now from his chair behind his name plaque although he letters are all linking arms it's more like a wooden barcode and he can't really make it out too clearly. Even the faces in the family photo on the desk double and intersect and it looks like his wife is making out with his daughter, his son is groping grandma not his basket ball and he knows this is all bullshit but he's going to have to ride it out.

"I mean have you seen them?" he scoffs.

"Who."

"All of them out there," Tate points outside the door with both hands "they're all the same, they don't come here to learn they just eat and shit and make each other's lives miserable, it's fucking depressing, no it's hilarious to look at... I mean they're just sheep and this school is just a fucking dirty zoo or a sty you know. I swear spending time here is nothing but a deplection of one's intellect and _she_ doesn't deserve that..."

He mentions her accidentally, it was not his intention to do so but his mouth is subserviant to his mind and he's thinking of a hundred and one other things he'd like to get off his chest.

"She who?"

"No one." he mutters.

"You can't smoke in here Mrs. Langdon..." Principal Robinson informs Constance who's half way through a cigarette amidst the conversation and Tate knows why she's been so quiet now why he's been deprived of her squawking jibes.

"Oh for heavens sake Tate just apologise to the man so I can leave! Mr Robinson I assure you he has learned his lesson..." Constance is well adapted to her lead role in the I'm a horrible mother and all round person saga.

"Mrs. Langdon this isn't about apologising, your son brought a rifle to school with him, it's a breech of discipline beyond anything I have ever dealt with in my twenty years. Thankfully no one was harmed and we're willing not to press charges. I fear it would attract unnecessary attention to the school. Tate's an extremely bright student, his grades are impeccable..."

The look of pride on his mother's face only sickens him.

"While I would deter from seeing him with a criminal record, I would advise though that he talk to someone. Here at Westfield we provide a most excellent chaplain service..."

"I assure you, I have tried to show him the lords way but the boy just wont comply."

"I don't need your dogma garbadge thanks I'm fine." The last thing he needs to do is have to burn up Pastor Raymond's car for trying to grope him in confidence.

_"Fine?_ You really want to lie to this man Tate and tell him that you're fine?" Constance is fuming now and reddening in the face.

"Tate I'm afraid I cannot let you return here unless you're willing to seek help. This isn't the first time your behaviour has threathened the health of the student body."

"Okay."

"You will see someone?"

"Yes." he hisses.

"Mrs Langdon if you wouldn't mind I held you for a while longer we can discuss this further, Tate you may go to class."

"Well sure, I mean whats fifteen minutes on seventeen years." the cocksucker sneers throwing her hands up in the air." It's more her general existance rather than lack of prefessionality that disgusts him.

"Who says you need fifteen minutes? I'm sure you'll make it worth your while, mom..." he informs her crudely, she knows his rare use of the m word implies anything but affection ridicule, contempt, irony.

But before she can berate him he's already out the door slamming it behind him.

* * *

><p>Having been assigned to a lab partner in chemistry, Violet finds herself paired with a bright eyed goth girl called Stephanie. The girl is nice for once and they speak of small things.<p>

"So what's it like?" she asks then.

"What..?" Violet asks slowly, clueless. Stephanie is smiling brightly like she knows something about Violet she shouldn't.

"Dating him, you're Tate Langdon's girlfriend right? I've seen you guys hanging around together."

"I'm not Tate's anything, I have a name and no we're not. Can you pass me the buret?"

She doesn't know why she said no, but truthfully Violet didn't know herself what they were and that bothered her, a lot now that she thought about it more and especially because people think they are. She also had a feeling this girl was only looking for some gossip.

"Doesn't look that way to me..."

"I'm sorry who are you exactly?" Violet's irked now.

"Sorry, I'm not trying to be nosy" Stephanie whispers quietly adding a brown coloured iodide to their water sample. "It's just he never talks to anyone ever and then all of a sudden he shows up after a two week suspension all cosy with the new girl, which is you by the way...You can't blame people for being curious."

"I'm not dating him, and by the way you have to put the dropper a good bit below the surface so it's only water that overflows, otherwise the reagent will just leak out and it's pointless..." Violet advises Stephanie who's making a mess of the workbench.

"Cool whatever, do you think you could give me some tips on how to talk to him then? Actually I know a few people who would like in on the secret you seem to have cracked. Girls have been trying to talk to him for years. I remember once in art class in the ninth grade Holly Heywood asked him if he wanted to go for pizza after school and he grabbed her by the hair and glue gunned it to the table, they had to cut half of it off. Funniest thing I've seen in my life. She was a bitch anyway."

"I don't think so, sorry. Do it yourself." Violet's never felt threathend in this way by another girl she usually laughs at the girls who get in a tizzy over a boy of common interest to both.

"So you are dating him?" Stephanie bites the tip of her tongue which loos extra pink against the white of her make up.

"I didn't say that." Violet says a bit louder but Stephanie continues anyway.

"Wow, so what do you guys do? Do you just cruise around with him while he terrorises people like his badass femme fatale? Like Bonnie and Clyde, Hindley and Brady. That would be so romantic."

"Do you even know what Hindley and Brady did?" Violet can't help but smile now at Stephanie's absurdity.

"You don't think what he did recently was down right fucked up?" Stephanie laughs although she doesn't give the impression that she thinks that. There's a certain awe in her tone thats odd.

Violet doesn't know what he did but she didn't want to look like an idiot so she wasn't going to say she didn't. She feels stupid for not asking him before but she always forgets because it never seemed to matter when she's with him.

"I had Spanish with him this morning he came in totally off his face on drugs. He's hot though so he can get away with the handsome psycho thing he has going on..."

"Violet and Stephanie please be quiet!" Ms Jacobs stops half way through her instructions for the Winkler titration to scold both girls.

Violet returns to swirling the conical flask solution.

"Whats he like in the sack? I'll bet he's a real freak in bed..." Stephanie wiggles her eyebrows playfully.

"..." Violet tries to concentrate on extracting an accurate twenty five centemetres cubed of the sample but she's too annoyed.

"You guys havn't gone their yet? Oh sorry..." Stephanie smiles not the least bit sorry though.

"I'm not dating him!" Violet sets the pipette down on the table harder than intended. When it shatters people turn around and stare.

"What in the world?" Ms Jacobs is rushing over to them now fuming.

"Shit sorry." Violet tries to gather up the pieces of the glass tube.

"Don't touch it you'll cut yourself, honestly Violet be more careful this equipment isn't cheap..." It's ironic what Ms Jacobs is saying but Violet's not in the mood to laugh.

"It was my fault Ms Jacobs sorry, I distracted her."

"Yes I've already told you two to stop talking keep it outside of class hours."

Violet and Stephanie don't talk for the rest of class. They measure, titrate, record and disguard a few more times in silence.

* * *

><p>It's lunch hour at Westfield High after a lengthy walk off school grounds Tate finds himself searching for her now that he's completely sober. He avoids all areas crowded for his own benefit because the whispers are annoying and rightly so, for after the ten seemingly long minutes he spots her exactly where he expects to find her. She's alone, sitting under a large Elm tree beside the almost completely empty bleachers.<p>

He knows it's her, he remembers everything she was wearing this morning and he remembers thinking it's far too warm for ankle skirts and trench boots. He knows it's her because most girls wouldn't be caught dead in the shade of brown she's wearing. They're right, it would look repulsing on anyone but her.

The gleam of her needless yellow rimmed sunglasses puts the basis of a smile he never uses on his face. It's not even sunny where she's sitting. He's hoping the spatter of colour is the attribute of a good mood or pissy even, he likes that. Anything but a concealment for the sad kind of tired eyes she might have left her house with.

It looks to him as though she's made a little nest for herself under there and he almost doesn't want to intrude upon her despite the yearning inside, his pulse is throbbing to spend time with her in seclusion because she's completely in the shade, almost invisible to the outside world. She's a chameleon because her mud coloured skirt matches the peep through brown of the sparse covering of grass beneath the tree. It's as green as the grass will ever get here.

He can appreciate her chosen location too. While she sits beyond earshot of everyone's mindless babble, the option of observational interest still remains.

He's thinking about all this as he's walking over towards the tree. Because her eyes are covered he can't tell if she's looking up or down, if he's within her vantage point or not.

He casually walks over, strides straight through a herd of them in the middle of a football game on a side pitch, the guy's reactions are no more than murmers and groans, they wont say anything to him post his short departure which could only best be described as going out with a bang. Besides, they're all in his way and he's not in the habit of going the long way when it comes to her.

When he reaches her, he stands in front of her intentionally so his mass blocks the minimal amount of light that reaches into her. She looks up slowly from the book she's reading gears herself up to face whoever's decided to bother her today.

"Boo." he smirks down at her.

Her jaw hangs slowly as she tilts her head back to meet his imploring gaze. Her lack of expectation is complimented by these enoromous, knock off Christian Roth's giving her the appearance of a wide-eyed bug, a pretty-crawly. She has her shoes off and her cardigan as a makeshift cushion.

He seats himself down beside her, tightly against her, arms pressed together. His body is larger than hers and he takes up her space. All she has to do is move over and she would move if it was anyone else, but she knows his proximity is intentional, he wants to be close to her and she doesn't want to move, in fact she moves in closer and just about rests her head against his arm.

She likes how he crowds her space, it makes her heart beat wildly when he touches her and she can hear the noises inside his chest. His breathing is slow and heavy and male, it sedates her. She remembers there is a better world outside the four walls of her tumultuous home. She doesn't know what's going on between them if last weekend was just fun. It's that awkward final relational transition, the moment when two people realize they might, do want each other but someone still always has to go there first.

"You like to creep up on people don't you?"

"Like a hawk." he stretches out his legs.

"More like a demented sparrow." She dog ears her departing page of the open book and closes it with a shy smile. He sniffs a laugh.

"How's things at home?" he asks solemly as he turns to face her.

She shrugs and lightly pulls a fist-full of grass by her side with her loose arm.

"Everyone just kind of keeps to themselves you know, it's still kind of awkward between me and dad since I, you know.."

She pauses, as a group of people walk by.

"...It's like we have three other people to talk to besides each other except we don't..."

He reaches for her hand while she's talking, he listens, he holds it, slips his fingers through the soft gaps between hers, they meet and interwine with his other set then, she's snug in the middle. It's the closest he can get to hugging her, cradling her without actually doing it. He doesn't know if he should assume he can do such things. He's never hugged anyone in years except his sister briefly but he's not really into touching people not since her.

She takes off the glasses and she's looking at their hands and she doesn't pull away like she did in the murder house. The white of her eyes is the slight shade of red he suspected, she's sad but he's glad he came prepared.

"Do you like cupcakes?"

He removes one of his hands and fishes out a brown paper bag from his rucksack.

"Who doesn't?" she says slowly eyeing him with a confused smile because he's already buying her presents. He hands her the freshly baked treat.

"It smells beautiful."

"That's why i figured it would be a suited gift." he sniffs, seriously like he's commenting on the weather.

"Seducer much?"

"Maybe." he simpers, delighted he's getting a rise out of her.

"There's candied violets on top. Reminded me of you naturally." He looks ahead smiling, eyeing the people engaging in sports on the pitch. A light breeze joins them.

"So cheesy." she shakes her head.

"Cinnamon actually." He doesn't care how uninventive his present is. He bought it this morning with the sole intention of getting her to smile for him, if at all for the silliness of it, it would appear he has succeeded.

"So what have you been up to?"

"You know, just hanging out with all my awesome friends. Where were you all day?" she's sardonic and he's missed the sound of that, her brilliant smile her astute sarcasm.

Truthfully, he had been avoiding her on purpose all morning, had wanted to see what she was like in school, wanted to observe her from afar. She had already been here a considerable while without him around. A part of him hoped she was terrorising the assholes here too. For the short time he's known her she's already punching people and stabbing her father in the hand, already starting to show her rage and he tries not to think there's a coincidence in there somewhere.

In fact, his suspension couldn't have come at a more detrimental time. If he had of been there for her like he should have been, like he wished he had been, there would be no cut on her forehead and she would have been able to smoke wherever she pleased, he would of made sure of that.

"Just around you know. I like to keep moving."

She nods smiling. "Just make time for me yeah?"

"Always." he's baffled that she'd ask for such a thing she already has for granted for as long as she wants.

"It's too warm..." Violet throws her head back and sighs. He notices she's eyeing the girls on the field in string tops and short shorts and he smiles. He wants to tell her she should wear less clothes then because it's a logical repsonse with a double meaning which she will definitely revile as lowbrow.

It's in this moment he wonders if she'd ever ditch the frumpy skirts, dresses and the knitted sweaters, just to belong for a moment because she has that extra layer he doesn't, that steel, the adaptability which would enable her to mingle with everyone else for survival purposes.

Alike a catalyst she remains unaltered at the end once she gets what she needs. Except she doesn't, she keeps to herself, she doesn't want anything from them, he wants to see them squirm. He's more like lighter fluid and everyone around him is pyre and glowing splints, an accident waiting to happen.

She's just socially dusty, it's not uncanny not to him at least.

"It's amazing how much attention showing your tits gets you around here." She says it out of the blue, brashly and completely serious in her tone and he thinks it might me another quirk about her that he likes.

"Bet you attract attention too." he replies.

"Not that kind. I know what guys like."

"I don't think you do."

"How would you know?"

"I'm guessing you don't think you look hot when you dress the way you do?"

"I'm not exactly most guy's type. I probably remind them of their little sister or something."

"Compared to who? Cheerleaders? Valley girls? If you give a guy that opportunity he's not going to care what you're wearing if he's into you, that's a girl thing, it's innate like-"

"I know how female social agression works." She cuts him off and points to the almost healed gash on her head.

"Which girls did that to you?"

"Why does it matter?"

"It matters to me, and I already think I know who might have done it but I'd rather if you told me."

"Leave it Tate."

"You're so stubborn."

"They havn't come near me since, I don't care about it I've had worse. I can't be like those girls..." she says it as though maybe she's considering she should be.

"Fuck those girls you're better. Your smart you tell it how it is, they all wish they could be more like you because they're weak they'd rather be hate society as a community then hate it alone..."

"Tate.." she rolls her eyes.

"I'm serious don't think you're not sexual because that's bullshit, you've got that, but you also have poise and that's fucking hard to find in anyone around here male or female."

"You sound like my dad."

"I don't think your dad would tell you how much he's into you. And I know when you look at all of them over there you see your parents in ten to twenty years time and they probably will end up that way."

She can't say anything because he's right and he knows what he's talking about and it's extrememly attractive to talk to someone so critically intune with his social surroundings.

"Everyone knows what girls look like unless they're ignorant or just plain dumb. Clothes mean jackshit when you're beautiful, I'd say you don't know how attractive you are, but I know you do, I know you own a mirror...You can't hide real beauty Violet. It's natural to want to admire people."

"I know obviously, but that's all they'd admire. No matter how successful women get the first thing people always say is how beautiful they are it's shit. Who gives a fuck. And the girls they just compete with each other and degrade each other more than guys, that's the worst part. I just hate it Tate..."

"Fuck them. Violet, don't feel you have to hide yourself just because the rest of them shovel it out as a side order of insecurity." Sneakily he takes her legs and drapes them over his.

"I know but it's not that simple." she toys with his thumb. They sit in silence for a few moments. He watches her eat some cake smiling and she catches him looking at her. At least he knows she eats.

"Do you want some?"

He declines and shakes his head.

"I'd rather a kiss."

She complies, smiles and swallows, leans in to meet him half way. Her tongue tastes like icing sugar and warmth, he could get used to monday afternoons if they were all like this.

"Wear shorts tomorrow. I dare you." he suggests candidly.

"No way."

"Why?"

"I'm too pasty."

"I like your legs a lot actually." he stoops his head to place a kiss on her knee cap.

"Yeah?" her being flattered eats at the corners of her nonchalance.

"Yeah, they're fun sized." he mumbles into her tights.

"You're fun sized."

"_I'm really not_..." he lifts his head up to smirk at her.

She looks away scornfully, but manages to flush a lovely shade of crimson that gets his own blood boiling so he grabs her and pulls them both down onto his back, she lands on top of his chest and he traps her in a bear hug.

"Let go."

"No." he hugs her tighter.

"You're messing up my hair."

"Bullshit." he kisses her hair anyway.

She laughs and wriggles in his grip, but they both know it's not a _let me go_ because she's tied down in awkward angles that provide a most opportune fortuity to reposition her legs in between his, she shimmys down so their hips meet and it's just casual frolicking beside the bleachers, as kids do on a monday afternoon.

His hands find her waist, his fingers run and totter under her sweater finding purchase on her soft body he pulls her up to his face so close, breath tickles lips and foreheads brush, she has to creak her neck back to look him properly.

"You're messing up my hair Violet..." he mimicks her when she pushes back his fringe out of his eyes.

"I don't talk like that, and your hair is messy anyway."

"You like it." he sighs and shifts beneath her.

She doesn't answer she just leans in and kisses him.

"Why'd you get suspended Tate?" Violet finally asks when they're taking a breather and she's resting her cheek on his chest. He's silent, only breathing, contemplative for a moment, he doesn't want her to run away from him, not when he has his nose in her hair and her little stockinged toes are feeling up his calf muscle.

"I brought a gun to school."

"Ha."

"..."

"Tate come on..."

"I'm not joking."

She sits up aruptly her hair a sated mess.

"What?" her face slackens.

"It was just meant to scare them, it wasn't even loaded."

"You have a gun?" Her eyes are wide, doe like, like she's Bambi and she's just found out her mother isn't coming back.

"Well it got confiscated and then the cops seized it, so not anymore." he murmurs, despite the ten others he has under his floorboards, she doesn't need to know about them. There's a few things she doesn't know about him that she should and he'll tell her when he grows a selfless pair. His weak attempt at distracting her comes with a hand caress down her side.

Her brow furrows.

"What?" he sits up to face her.

"I feel like there's this whole other side to you that I don't know about, and I have feeling you don't want me to know..."

"That's not true." he half lies. He wants her to know, he just fears her rejection more.

"..."

"I'll tell you anything you want I promise." It's good for him in a way because she wont ask what she doesn't know. Then again she's not an idiot and she'll find out if she wants too. She contemplates on his lap for a moment, chews on her lip. She spots Stephanie in the distant who's looking straight at her and Tate, she doesn't know why it unnerves her so much.

"Move..." she says simply shifting off his lap somewhat but he stops her.

"What?"

"You're squishing my paper back."

"You're mad." he retrieves it for her from beneath his back.

"I'm not it's just new that's all." she mumbles placing a strand of hair behind her ear.

His grin is majestic.

"Don't look at me like that..." she lulls her head back and sighs.

"Why?"

"Cause...it makes me feel funny."

"Where?" he almost whispers, locking his arms around her.

"Inside."

"Where?" he murmurs in her ear and her stomach twists violently.

"Guess." she says in a small voice he's smothering her with his well concentrated charm.

"Can I guess later? If you hang out with me we can feel funny together." Her face is stoic and he rumbles a laugh. "I'm sorry that was awful."

"It really was but yes, I'm free tonight."

"What do you have now?" he asks her.

"English..."

"Can I see you're schedule?" she fishes it out of her bag and hands him a folded up piece of paper.

He smiles.

"What?"

"We're in the same English..."

"Really?" She beams.

"Yeah, are you taking all AP classes?" he marvels.

"Surprised?"

"Not at all. Come on we're going to be late, I can't afford another suspension and I don't want you to get in trouble because of me."

She gets off him and puts her shoes back on. He stands up and gives her a hand to stand up.

He keeps a hold of her hand tightly a step ahead as they sift through the crowded corridor. Usually it takes Violet a long time to get through the corridor she has to constantly stop and say excuse me every ten seconds but now holding Tate's hand everyone moves out of his way and they move quickly through the masses. He looks back at her and smiles wickedly and she realises now how advantageous people knowing you might have a gun is when cramped in enclosed spaces. The only thing that tampers the moment are the wierd looks people give him, although it's only when they start to look at her the same way does she really notice. There's judgement and surprise. She doesn't give a fuck how crazy he is at this point she's rather not be trampled on by people on a daily basis.

Well almost everyone.

"Hey Tate. How are you?" She feels him stop aruptly before she hears that familiar voice she hates.

Violet knew this moment would come eventually. How could it not? They all have to share this school.

It's Leah and she's standing in front of them all five foot ten of her, saffron brown hair, her vultures by her side. Violet's suddenly feeling like a little squirt beside her, the wise words exchanged during lunchtime conversation all forgotten. Violet's a teenage girl and she can't fucking help it.

Tate notices Violet stiffen and squeezes her hand as he puts it all together, he knows now.

"Hey Violet. Tate do you mind if I talk to your little friend for a minute I want to have a chat with her." Leah beams like nothing happened. Violet fills her angry silence with a scoff. Tate rubs his temple gives himself a minute to work up his best Iwillobliterateyou face and when it surfaces her minions squirm like the maggots they are. Leah stays put though.

"What are you staring at Langdon?" she rolls her eyes and he smirks coldly. Despite all the years they've known each other they still know how to get under each other's skin. Violet notices this and can't help but assume the obvious.

"I'm just wondering," Tate speaks then distracting Violet from putting two and two together. "How deep do you all want it?"

"What are you talking about?" Leah sneers.

"I reckon a six by two would do the job, do you all mind sharing? Alike your personality or lack of I should say, there's not a lot of you in person so it should be an okay fit. I suggest you just leave now before I do something you know you'll regret but I wont..."

Leah snorts and walks away but they get the message. She knows he's not the Tate he used to be and she knows he's serious but she wont show it in front of Violet.

Tate's not mad, he wont do anything while Violet's here. He's patient. She'll get what's coming to her eventually whether it's by him or at the hands of someone else because as of now he wouldn't abondon her over something so trivial. Violet's more important to him than twenty-five years for shallow burying those bitches in the wilderness will ever be.

When he turns to look at Violet though her gaze is icy and not so much recieving.

* * *

><p><strong>AN** Can I just say Leah and Tate do not have a sexual history, I can tell you this because it makes zero relevance to the story and where I'm taking it. Also there will be no Leah and her minions vs. Violet that high-school-bitchiness stuff isn't my style and it's overdone and cringy and just no no no :L This is a horror story!

Well hello it's been a while hasn't it? :) I've kinda been in a dry spell recently...regarding writing of course I just lost my inspiration for a while and evidently must have found it again on the three day bender I *facepalm* just went on this weekend past with four of my bestest buddies. Messy stuff I tell you, ugh :/ My mum even insisted on giving me a tour of my house just to remind me what it looks like. She thinks she's funny hmmp.

Stephanie and Leah are gonna be pretty important to this story and not in the obvious way you all might assume or maybe you wont...I also realised a lot of the chapters in this story are peppered with future clues most of them unintentional. I'm not gonna go back and edit because it would make it obvious. They're not really that obvious so it's okay :)

Wait! omg did you hear none of the actors who played Harmons are coming back for Season 2! Wahhh why? D: Does anyone know if it means Evan too? Oh jesus I was only getting used to and starting to like the idea of them playing different characters. Sorry I know this is old news but I've been out of the loop recently. I mean I only found out Whitney Houston died yesterday morning... I know I'm an ignorant b**ch :(

If you havn't read **ScarlettWoman710**'s new fic **The Devil's rejects **DO IT NOW it's the best smut I think I've ever read.


	10. Witching Hour

**Chapter 10 - Witching Hour -**

Sick isn't the word.

It's a kind she's never felt, one that presses a clawed finger against her heart ripping under it's thud, tight, tight. She passed it off as an illusion at first, how her blood had pounded in her ears and her face flamed with heat, fingers gripping the photograph taken in the basement, unable to make it any further through the rest of the pile of birthday adventures, which she shoves the paper envelope in a distant drawer and carries on with her day.

It's the simplicity of it that's most unnerving, it's almost a pencil etched cartoon neat, yet in proportion with its surroundings.

The eyes, or lack of, too pale, too bald, too infant...

It's grin.

* * *

><p><em>...What is she doing with that knife?<em>

"Violet?"

_Nothing._

"Violet?"

"huh?"

"There's bedsheets drying out on the line in the yard I want you to take inside later." Vivien informs Violet who is lazily lounging on her front in her bedroom ankles crossed and elevated, toes bobbing to a somber guitar riff on the radio.

"Yep." She narrows her eyes onto the opening chapter at hand.

_Where does the blood on her skirt come from?_

Engrossed in the works of Suskind's Perfume, Violet's attention is sparingly captured by the clack of her mother's heels on the hardwood floor in the landing. Violet's inclined to at least get through a third of her newly acquired reading material this Friday night when you've had nothing better to do...

Earlier this week Ben had bought (out of pity no doubt and to get her out of the house for a while...) Violet and himself two tickets to visit California's own Huntington Library. Much to Violet's dismay, simple plebeians like themselves were not authorized to borrow any of the ancient smelling rarities.

Apparently her father's PhD from Harvard didn't qualify worthy as a scholar on a Friday afternoon, Tate being the contrary shithead he was, had told her it wasn't worth the twenty bucks he payed to visit once before. With a soon to hear "told ya so" from her sweet male companion, Violet and Ben took an awkward walk around the Botanical Gardens and had an iced mocha at a simple cafe, before Ben offered to drive Violet's disappointed ass first to the camera store to get a roll of film developed then to Riordan central in downtown Los Angeles where she did manage to take out a hefty stack of books sporting mildew smelling fun. Fun only your average sixteen year old recluse would enjoy.

Some classics, old magazines, an epistolary account of the Black Dahlia's fantastic murder and another on the history of old LA mansions, a purchase she was quick to hide from her Dad for some reason, it's sitting at the bottom of the pile closest to her floor under the bed, currently.

_...She stands up, tosses the knife aside, and walks off to wash._

"And Violet please don't forget, I have a feeling it's going to rain later."

Ben and Vivien were currently heading out for the night to catch a late night movie showing in The Plaza Theatre downtown, some new Meg Ryan film Vivien was dead set on seeing. Naturally they had asked Violet along and she contemplated sitting in a movie theatre with over priced popcorn on one side and her parents phoney marriage on the other. Naturally, she said no thank you, the homework excuse coming in as a godsend.

"Yeah sure mom."

_...And then, unexpectedly, the infant under the gutting table begins to squall. They have a look, and beneath a swarm of flies and amid the offal and fish heads they discover the newborn-..._

"You sure you don't wanna come? I hate the thought of leaving you on your own." Vivien presses from the master bedroom en suite.

"Ah mom I'm not five, I'm fine honestly, enjoy yourself..." There were times when Violet would dote upon watching her mother get ready to go out, perched in front of her vanity, Violet once remembers as a kid being fascinated with the workings of make up and jewelry.

_...They pull it out._

"We wont be back too late, anyway..."

"Mhmm."

_...As prescribed by law, they give it to a wet nurse and arrest the mother. And since she confesses, openly admitting that she would definitely have let the thing perish, just as she had with those other four by the way, she is tried, found guilty of multiple infanticide, and a few weeks laterdecapitated at the place de Greve. By that time the child had already changed wet nurses three times. No one wanted to keep it for more than a couple of days. It was too gree...-_

"What's the alarm code?" Vivien's suddenly at the door of her bedroom.

"Huh?"

"Alarm code, you'll need to put it back on when you take the sheets in..."

"78793" Violet rolls her eyes. Vivien smiles brightly.

"Well were off, call if you need anything okay?" Vivien insists drumming her red painted manicure on the door frame.

Violet nods once.

"I love you."

"Love you too mom."

_... greedy they said, sucked as much as two babies, deprived the other sucklings of milk and them, the wet nurses, of their livelihood, for it was impossible to make a living nursing just one baby.. _

Briefly she hears her dad call good bye and Violet sighs when she hears hears the hall door close finally.

_The police officer in charge, a man named La Fosse, instantly wearied of the matter and wanted to have the child sent to-..._

Briefly she glances at the clock,

9:35 pm.

* * *

><p>11:45 pm and the sheets still hang silently in the night air of the back yard.<p>

Twenty chapters in her eyes are strained in the dim light, she wishes her Wonder Woman lamp was closer, bigger, brighter not a shitty red tinted sixty watt crap that kids love.

"Motherfucker..." she curses, closing over her book, she always remembers the page number but never to do laundry...

Rain.

Anemic but there, tapping at her window like small bitty fingers of milli-something creature, a rarity for SoCal to get so hot it breaks a misty sweat. It's never even proper rain, just warm spits of carbonic tasting smog.

It's black outside.

Emerging from the nest of comforters on her bed she heads out into the empty landing, every door insight is closed, bar the bathroom. It's wide open and misty in the dark, night sky is visible through the smaller window.

All appears quiet outside her bedroom when she listens again, only to the soft rain outside that scratches at the skylight glass above her head like tiny pebbles, she looks up in that direction, slowly. Violet moves down the stairs palm running along the smooth pine banister slowly walking off the delayed tickling onset of pins and needles worth two hours of sitting cross legged on her feet, elbows having added all the more pressure.

She flicks on the hall light even though the best part of the hall is illuminated by the kitchen and living room light.

The tiles are cool and shiver inducing on the balls of her feet.

Trudging, she almost stands on her mom's dog slumbering in it's donut shaped bed in the center of the floor. With a polite but mild repulsion she shifts the annoying replacement baby towards the wall with a lilac stocking clad foot and walks on towards the light of the lounge.

scrape scrape

She looks back once to catch the dog staring at the front door, in silence.

scrape

She knows the TV has been on because it shuts itself off after a while, the afterglow crackles and drones, she plugs it out form the socket.

Silence.

11:54 pm and her thoughts run rampant.

The gurgle of hot water boiling rumbles loudly through the kitchen, the idea of a cup of raspberry tea sounds good while Violet gazes out the window into the darkness of their back yard contemplating venturing out in the dark rain to retrieve the bed sheets, they're white forms ghost gently in the mild breeze and rain, rippling and moving as thogh hands were running along the back of them.

She heads into the utility room, sliping on an old pair of ripped Converse her mom insisted be left out for the trash, Violet likes the charming brown shade the white ones always get from wear. Wrapping her fingers around the key, the venetian blinds swish as she unocks the back door with a click, laundry basket under arm.

She stops aruptly. The alarm is still on, if it goes off it'll be loud and annoying...

She ventures back into the hall and beeps in the code on the old device on the wall.

scrape

Again. Too real to pretend to ignore this time. Her eyes catch the back of the dog's head still gazing at the front door, whining now somewhat.

She stands there too for a moment, gazing in silence, waiting, nothing.

11:56 pm.

* * *

><p>It's not cold outside and the rain is merely a drizzle.<p>

The sheets make zips and scrappy noises as they rub friction against the thin rope of the washing line as she tugs them off roughly, stuffing them into the plastic basket, the breeze blows hair in her eyes and nips at her tiny frame through her clothes.

It's cliche to say you get have the feeling someone's watching you, yet you still do and skepticism always evaporates when fear rears it's ugly end, shakes the bones in your fingers from under the tip of a razor blade.

Two more sheets left, she stands in between them, like she's in a tent with no roof, can't see the yard just pale white cotton, rippling under her fingers.

He's in her head among all other things scary not as much of a comfort as she thought. Having went to his house earlier to ask him if he wanted to hang out at hers tonight, Constance had told her he hadn't been home all week. It wasn't unusual of Tate to disappear, although it annoyed her somewhat, she did wish however he was here with her now...

The photograph taken in the basement still playing on her mind.

She hurries her task sliding the basket along the grass with her foot, bunching and folding material collecting clothes pegs, flushing thoughts of hands grabbing her through the maze of sheets, ignoring the fact that the back door is wide open, perhaps further than she left it, it's windy. She hurries along up the patio, slamming the door behind her and dropping the baskets of sheets beside the washing machine, she'll fold them later when she locates her nerves.

Violet then goes about closing the wooden venetian blinds that cover the back door and similarly the window over the sink, returns to the counter, rubbing the back of her calf with her opposing foot she fingers the remote on the counter flicking on the small television on a wall bracket to a channel showing reruns of Law and Order.

Glass doesn't scrape.

It's a habitual rejection of the silent loneliness that's followed her forever, has been strong enough to eat around her parent's arguements until the silence becomes loud and her parent's are the muted. The latter is more convincing she thinks, she's not scared of anything except being lonley and how much she like's being alone, it can't be healthy...

Be careful what you wish for it just might devour you.

A bang. Loud and clear this time not feeble and quiet and scratching at her brain. Glass doesn't knock.

The dog stirs and begins to bark, growling, making it's way towards the noise it sniffs under the door and snarls. Violet watches from the kitchen door armed with a vessel of skin scalding liquid, it's something at least.

It's too early for her parents, too late for neighbours in need and too rainy for pranksters, she doesn't know if she should be alarmed.

BANG

It might be Tate messing with her, running his fingers along the sheets out back, making ripples just to scare her but it would be out of character even for him, he wouldn't scare her like that.

BANG

He's not even around so that rules him out.

BANG

BANG

Knocking on someone's door when it's raining and dark is just creepy...

BANG

TWANG

Someones clearly come for a midnight visit.

the clock strikes twelve with an unnerving twang she knows lasts for fifteen seconds.

TWANG

BANG

BANG

TWANG

The dog's barking manically, snarling, nose under the door.

She almost forgets to look through the peep hole first when her hand lands on the cold brass latch of the door. Her palm recoils. She rolls her eyes, berates herself over the fact that she was about to actually open the door, it's only her subconscious though. You hear a knock, you open the door. Reaching up on her toes she peeks out of the spy hole in the wood and sees nothing except the night, the porch light is on, the porch empty.

No sign of her boyfriend in a ski mask or worse someone who isn't her boyfriend in a ski mask, not like she'd be able to tell...Some people would probably find that shit erotic, stranger or not.

It appears then.

Her stomach drops at the sight of its black mass like a bowling pin, it's presence devours the lens of the peep hole, she staggers back from the door, heart pounding against her rib cage, now she's hallucinating, _please be a dream._ She doesn't go about quietening the dog who's frantic now, she feels the same way, the same terror.

Placing her ear against the wood she waits quietly in the silence immediately realizing it was a stupid idea when the knock comes again and nearly deafens her.

BANG

"Shit"

She staggers back from the door, clasping her ears, Hallie growls again.

BANG

BANG

"Shush." Violet hisses in a flustered state of ear pain, the dog's shrieking only makes worse. Her pulse is frantic now, her ears hot and it takes all the will power she has to bring her eye back to the peep hole.

Silence...

She sits on the bottom step of the staircase for a further minute eyes glued to the hall door, hot liquid in hand she sets it down on the hall table.

Silence...

When the dog settles eventually Violet does too heading back into the light of the kitchen and the comforting sound of the TV.

The sound of her mug crashing to the tiles spilling hot liquid around her toes doesn't scathe her, eyes wide she can't move as she gazes at the hooded thing sitting at her kitchen table, it appears to be shivering or shaking. It gazes up at her slowly, looking less bald, less pallid less infant and more like that nosy fucking goth girl from her chemistry class...

Anger.

"Hello Violet."

"WHAT THE FUCK?"

"What?"

"How the fuck did you get in my kitchen?"

"The backdoor was unlocked..." She smiles.

"Okay, why the fuck are you in my kitchen?"

"No one was answering at the front! I needed to, shit I'm sorry..." Stephanie's eyes widen, she pulls strings of wet blonde hair behind her ears, her eyeliner is sumdged and running down her rosy tinted white cheeks.

"What the fuck Stephanie...?"

"I was coming home from somewhere and some creep was following me I ran to the nearest house, which turns out to be yours I guess..." She offers Violet a weak smile, runny like rice pudding, a smile Violet doesn't return.

"You don't look out of breath..."

She laughs awkwardly. "You don't believe me I'm telling the truth Violet..." As much as the girl's clandestine demeanor unnerves Violet she can hardly turn her away.

"Are they still out there?"

"I don't know..."

"Well do you know what they looked like?"

Stephanie shakes her head and rubs her arms, eyes wandering around the kitchen.

"Can I use your telephone to call home?"

"Uhmm okay..."

"Oh right yeah thanks...So this is your house?" Stephanie ponders telephone in hand.

"Well yeah obviously..."

"Alright grumpy." She sighs.

"Uhmm phone's in the hall..."

Stephanie passes by Violet put into the hall, Violet bends down to pick up the shanks of ceramic lying in puddles of pink liquid that's now cooled on the tiles, throwing them in the bin she grabs some paper towel and mops it up, locking the fucking back door this time on her way over to the trash bin. Still doesn't explain the scrape...

"I can't get through, the lines bad...It's a good thing I'm not a serial killer otherwise you'd have no 911 to call..." Stephanie smirks appearing in the kitchen doorway awkwardly.

Violet ignores that for her own sake...

"My parents should be back soon I'm sure my mom or dad won't mind driving you home. Do you live around here?"

"Yeah fifteen minutes away...I might just try the phone again in a bit." She informs Violet seating herself back down at the table, making herself at fucking home.

"Fuck sake I thought you were some psycho who's come to kill me and gut my mom's dog..." Violet deadpans with a weak smirk somewhat.

"Sorry to disappoint you, your house looks really inviting from the outside by the way. The lights feel as warm as they look from the outside..."

"That's a good thing?" Violet asks somewhat sarcastic.

"It is if you like strangers showing up at your door I guess..."

* * *

><p>Turns out Stephanie Boggs was a salvia smoking wiccan originally from Silver Lake with a fetish for Nine Inch Nails, occultism and Doreen Valiente...<p>

The kind of girl Violet would be no more inclined to befriend than the cocaine snorting rich girls who run the hallways. Girls like Stephanie are girls Violet knows all too well. They're the kind of people you get conned into befriending before you're taken advantage of in many shapes and forms while also being subdued to the wrath of these people's sharp tongues that abandon any admirable qualities they might of appeared to have had for a glorious sip of that altkid Kool-Aid, a snipe at someone else's expense, someone else who's a lot less interested in conforming than said person.

"Can I smoke in here?"

"Not in here..."

Violet leads them into the utility room where they both make themselves comfortable on the floor amongst the scent of water vapor and detergent, piles of clean laundry and white sheets. Violet unlocks the doggy flap attached to the backdoor in the small square room and insists Stephanie smoke through it so as not to get the stench of whatever the fuck she's smoking in the house...

People like Stephanie have never been ostracized in their lives, not really, they just slap on an exterior abnormality and self proclaim pretension, in Stephanie case it's an upside down crucifix on a chain sitting between her breasts. Violet and Tate sport a similar perspective although at least they can admit and laugh quietly together at the fact that they're just as cool for making fun of cool people...

"That's not tobacco..." Violet comments, getting a whiff of the sweeter-smelling smoke compared to tobacco.

"Want some?"

"Who the fuck gets high with their burglar?"

"You didn't call the police did you?" Stephanie chuckles.

"Not yet." Violet smirks, reaching for an ashtray off the kitchen counter and passing it to Stephanie.

"Sorry about your tea." Stephanie apologizes for the remains of mug and fruity liquid caked in the bin.

"It's okay."

"So you live on the murder house street...?" Stephanie breaks the silence.

"Yep." Violet purses her lips.

"I've been on the tour but it was shit..." She informs Violet inhaling the smoking herb.

"Yeah it's pretty shit...The house is pretty cool inside."

"You've been in it? How?" Stephanie sits forward attentively.

"Yeah, ehm a friend took me, private tour I guess."

"Thats cool...Who show'd you the house, could they take me?"

Violet really doesn't want to mention Tate for fear of Stephanie's smile eating up her face.

"What's it like inside?"

"Dusty, smelly, dirty."

"Scary?"

"The basement is kinda scary I guess."

"You've been in the basement! The haunted basement?" Stephanie flicks a head of ash into a nearby ash tray, eyes wide.

"It's not haunted." Violet rolls her eyes. "The scariest thing down there I've seen is a dead cat..."

"You know apparently the black Dahlia was murdered in there..." Stephanie crosses her legs.

"That's just a rumor they found her body nearby but it could have been any house, any street..."

"Could have been the Montgomery house though..." Stephanie adds gleefully like the thought of it excites her. "Was it really an abortion clinic?"

"Yeah there's some counters and a surgery chair down there, Tate found a baby's head in a jar..." Violet laughs but instantly regrets the slip.

"Seriously?" Stephanie scoffs "...Awesome."

"I know right."

"Wait so you went with Tate?"

"Yeah.." Violet swallows.

"Was it like a date? Shit that's romantic." The statement instant surprising coming from a girl like Stephanie.

Violet shrugs and glances at the clock it's after twelve.

"Witching hour..."

"What?"

"Witching hour, you know when the spirit world barrier thins..."

"That's bullshit." Violet quips.

"Is it?" Stephanie challenges.

"..."

Violet contemplates for a moment, her parents wont be back for at least another half hour...

"Can I show you something Stephanie?"

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes and two salvia joints later Violet's nerves are shot, smoking one of Stephanie's home made rollies<p>

"Damn, Nora Montgomery was pretty..." Stephanie comments sifting through the section dedicated to the murder house in Violet's borrowed book.

"Yeah."

"What did you wanna show me?"

Violet doesn't have to sift through the pile and risk seeing it's grin, she knows exactly where she placed said picture, on the bottom she passes it to Stephanie face down who passes Violet over the book she was reading.

Violet briefly casts her gaze out the doggy flap door into the night, flicks aimlessly through the book she borrowed on old LA mansions avoiding said section while Stephanie smokes and observes the photograph at hand.

"It kinda looks like..."

"Kinda looks like what?" Violet hurries her syllables foot tapping the tiles she dabs out the roach butt.

"Like it's staring at the camera..."

"Or what's behind it?"

"Yeah..." Stephanie's buzzed.

"Me..." Violet's buzzed.

"Yeah..."

"It's probably nothing, my mom's friend had this husband who-"

"had?"

"He died..."

"Oh."

"Yeah anyway, his wife used to be into photography, like crowd shots and cities. She went to Mongolia a while after he died. She went on this bus journey and started taking random pictures of the people in this old village they stopped at. I'm talking a really really secluded area, miles from anywhere. Anyway she was filming shots of these people just going about their everyday work in the main square or whatever, there was a market on it was flooded with people. They kept staring at her like they were hungry to eat her. Although it was probably cause they've never seen a white person before..."

"Stephanie where are you going with this?"

"I'm getting there! Anyway yeah the people there we're really creepy and while she was photographing them her camera broke..."

"Broke?"

"Someone knocked into her as she was pressing the shutter button and knocked it out of her hand, it cracked on the ground. Anyway, that's not the important part, the camera was fine and she went about taking her picture. It was when she came home and got the role of film developed the pictures she noticed something wierd in one of them..."

"Her husband?"

"Yeah, in the doorway of a cottage in the background looking out at her smiling..."

"It was probably a mistake, like an overlap from the previous film?"

"Yeah she went to see a man about it but he said there's no way it was, the transparency was the same, solid I dunno much about photos but I know there's a difference in an overlap..."

"Is that supposed to creep me out?"

"It's just a story." Stephanie smiles wildly...

"Seriously chill, it's probably a dust follicle stuck on the lens..."

"Yeah..."

"If it's bugging you that much I'll hang onto that one for you if you want, we can have a chat about it on Monday or something..."

Violet likes the idea, it'll get the photograph out of her house for a bit at least, remove the problem, at least physically...

Ben and Vivien arrive home a while later and Stephanie apologizes for the inconvenience and Ben insists it's fine and that he'll drive the girl home.

The car journey is silent for the most part, Violet who's seated in the front of her dad's Mercedes asks her father how the movie was and catches Stephanie's smile several times in the rear view mirror, the passing street lights casting an orange glow on her pale skin. Violet smiles back. Ben asks Stephanie about herself and Violet listens intently at how ordinary a life the average adolescent Californian wiccan lives. It's more visiting her dad's in Ohio during holidays or her love of painting and drama and less cloaked circles in forests with upside down crucifixes, sacrificing kiddies and having gang bangs.

Violet tries with all her might not to smile when Stephanie asks Ben what happened to his hand.

Stephanie's house is pretty ordinary, three up three down, suburban car in the drive way, nice garden. They wait till she's a far bit up her driveway and out of site before Ben turns the car and drives home.

"She's a nice girl." Ben comments.

"Yeah..."

* * *

><p>Violet lies awake that night, restless. Now that the rain has ceased there's nothing to focus on but the silent darkness that floods the room. The photograph replays in her mind over and over as inanimate objects in the room that reflect little light become tight black eyes and unnatural bald scalps and alligator grins.<p>

A sickness in her tummy stirs like acid reflux, mouth dry from the salvia she contemplates the state of her sobriety and dreads falling asleep in fear of what torment her dreams will bring her.

She lies flat, sweats a bit afraid to move and feeling childish but she really doubts if she can, thinks she might be on the verge of a kind of lucid sleep paralysis, that's the scary part, you can't stop it and she wont tell him about it despite his prodding concern and warm brown eyes, she can't because it's him he brings familiar smells and sensations when he touches her that send her spiraling into nightmares.

She dozes briefly, eyes sticky and sore before what seems like only moments later to movement in her bedroom.

It's brighter, closer to morning but the night isn't the only thing that's moving.

Her curtains are moving, expanding outward like there's a breeze bloating their bellies_,_ a sickness she cant move.

She mutters a curse word when his blonde curls appear in the blue dark of the morning.

He lands with a dense thump and mutters the word shit.

"Tate?"_  
><em>

"You should really lock you're windows Vi..."

The sound of his voice is suddenly the best fucking sound in the world as she watches him reset her curtains neatly. His voice is hoarse and familiar and warm, comforting she's not scared anymore.

She's already flipping off her duvet and crossing the room to meet him she wraps her arms around his waist.

"It's just you, thank God..." She is thankful, delighted.

"Course, who else would it be?" He chuckles_, _wrapping his arms around her tightly, breath tickling her hair.

She pulls away after a moment when she composes her breath somewhat, his presence brings a whole new kind of thumb to her chest less of fear and more of warm fuzz.

"Where are you going? I didn't mean to wake you up sorry..."

"Stay here, I'll be back in a second..." She insists heading out the door and straight to the bathroom.

Once inside she closes the door and turns on the tap splashing her face with cold water, she grips the sink basin and breathes in and out for seven, rinsing her mouth and the back of her neck with the cold water.

Upon returning Tate's leaning against her dressing table, arms folded, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Nice legs."

She almost dies on the spot forgetting she's in her underwear and a t-shirt, grateful of it's length and ability to hide the purple unicorns on her asexual cotton briefs...

"Don't expect me to have clothes on when you spontaneously show up in my room." She sasses in an attempt to hide her blush she climbs back into her bed pulling the duvet over her.

"I'm not complaining." He simpers.

"Those dimples kinda look like ass cheeks."

"I like Unicorns."

"Shut up."

Her eyes widen when she watches him take his jeans off, he notices.

"Have you ever tried to sleep in jeans? It's itchy." He hitches an eyebrow amused because her face is all flushed rosy.

She smiles and scoots over so he can get into the bed with her, pulling the duvet over them he shifts so he's facing her and she shifts upwards a bit so she's not looking at his neck. His eyes are big and brown and she's molten all around him.

"I missed you." She murmurs finding his hand to lace her fingers into and play with, resting them on her hip, he strokes the inlet of her waist with his index finger.

"Yeah, I'd miss me too..." He teases and she pushes herself away from him.

"Asshat. You smell like shrubbery." She grins picking a piece of green something out of his soft locks.

"Your mom has plastic lattices, very deceiving, I ended up having to climb the drain pipe like a pole." He informs her pulling her back towards him by the legs gently.

"Kinky. "

"Prickly..."

"They're my dad's roses actually, he's the green fingered one." She informs him in a quiet voice tracing the line of his jaw with her finger.

"Sly old Doctor Harmon." He mutters amused and she chuckles into his chest.

"It's a precaution against boys with bad intentions sneaking into his daughter's window don'tcha know?...Right now my dad's sitting in the lounge twirling his mustache."

"Better be quiet then." He laughs and leans his head down but her hands and mouth are already waiting for his.

Her inner thighs become a bag of nerves and sensitivity when he moves over her and all she can do is sink into the bed beneath his mass. He moves his lips to her neck and sucks on the skin softly, with his lips breathing in her sheets, puffs of her gentle sighs and mewls falling from her lips send them both to sleep. It's a little after 4 am and she feels safe for the first time all night.

* * *

><p>One of few good things about Violet's bedroom apart from it getting the most light in the morning is the high window that opens as a door onto the tiniest french balcony or extended window sill for lack of a better word.<p>

This morning however it's not the light that penetrates the sleep it's his smile there to greet her from across the room in an antique arm chair her grandma gave her.

"Morning sleepy."

"What time is it?" Violet smiles with a groggy voice, rubbing her eyes clean with a palm because it's the only way to downplay that familiar thud, that clammy flutter in her stomach excited at the sight of him there and the memory of him climbing in her bedroom window at the crack of dawn.

"little after 8 am." She feels the mattress dip when he comes to sits down opposite her, hand sneaking under the bed to play with her foot, she jerks her foot away.

"How long you been awake?" She's a little disappointed because she always wondered how it'd fell to wake up in his arms.

"Since seven, bit before maybe..." He shrugs and she notices he's reading the book she was reading last night before shit went down and she nearly wet herself on several occasions. Stephanie and the murder house are a distant thought, still there but barely she's more focused on how the sun light catches his curls perfectly and how she knows his hair is always curliest after he washes it.

"Is that tea?" She tilts her head eyeing the steam coming from the cup on her dresser.

"Yeah raspberry..." he informs her reaching over for the mug. "Your parents sleep like fucking logs I was able to go down and make it, I remember you said it was your favourite."

"Thanks." She smiles taking the mug and drinking a pleasant hot sip of red sweetness.

"Sure." He says simply, messing with her foot again.

"No eggs?" She smirks pulling her foot away again from his curious fingers.

"You don't eat eggs..."

"I'm kidding."

"One usually cooks eggs for females the morning after sex..."

She swallows a hot sup of tea that burns in an effort to stop her from spitting it out, he said that on purpose and now he's smiling like a bastard.

"Kidding."

"It's Saturday, Tate why are we even awake?" She sighs setting the mug down on her bedside locker and lying back down on the pillows.

"I'm an early riser, I prefer power naps you know. I'd feel vulnerable if I slept for more than two hour straight."

"You'd make a good father." She says it without really realizing what she's said, what it implies what his face probably looks like now. Slyly Violet buries her head under the duvet.

"Violet?"

"What?" She mumbles under the layers of blankets.

"I've thought about it once before too it's okay."

She resurfaces to look at him "Really?"

He nods.

"I hate kids."

"Same."

They chuckle, she's a vision of beauty to him in the morning light, eyes sleepy and wide, brown and watery hair messy, split untidy. Cheeks marked with the faint lining of a crease in her pillow.

"Violet?" Vivien's knock comes on the door with a quick rasp ruining the moment and Violet freaks out for a second, Tate's eyes widen.

"Err naked!"

She doesn't even have to look at Tate to know he's smiling so she flips him the bird and tells him he better get out of her room and he does, kisses her on the lips softly before exiting the way he came in through the window casting one last look at her smiling bed head under the covers.

He wants to be the only person in the world who gets to see her, this vulnerable first thing in the morning when she's half naked and without her armour, without her her guard up she doesn't think like she usually does before she says things that make her blush and hide from him.

It's how he often imagines she'll look the morning after they have sex and he wont get up, she wont wake up cold, he'll be there for her to wake up in his arms with his cum still caked into the creases where her thighs knit with her groin, sated and knowing how much of a fucking angel she is in this inferno.

His dick twitches, stroking the soft peach fuzz baby fluff she leaves on his monster's skin warmed up like a beautiful disease, it gyrates in his brain in slow waltzing circles.

A perfection that isn't blood on his hands.


End file.
